


Watch The Young Hearts Fade

by kiazareni



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, College Student Yuri, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Mutual Pining, One of them is a bartender, Pining, Reunion, Skating injury, Slow Burn, Viktor with a K, but not an au, guess which one, past unresolved issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-10-03 14:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 101,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10248509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiazareni/pseuds/kiazareni
Summary: Yuri is forced to deal with a lot of issues from his past, when after five years of silence, Otabek is suddenly back in his life. It might be just what he needs to move on, but that doesn't mean it isn't hard, and sometimes, Otabek doesn't make it easy either, especially when Yuri's feelings for him resurface. He refused to go down that road once before, but he is not sure he is strong enough this time.He had long unfollowed most of his skater friends, Otabek among them, because he didn’t want to see the pictures of practices and ice shows, the videos of a new jump they’d learnt, or group photos during competitions he was no longer part of. It wasn’t surprising that he didn’t know about Otabek being in Russia, but it still would have been nice to get a little warning somehow.He thought about texting him, just to make it clear that he had meant to say hello, to explain that he was just surprised to see him, before he remembered that he didn’t even have his number since he deleted it five years ago.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to say special thanks to [Nellosel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellosel/pseuds/Nellosel), because when I was all out of inspiration, she gave me four keywords to write a oneshot with, and I ended up with this. Honestly, I have no idea how long it's going to be, I have the whole story planned out, and this is probably the shortest chapter (if all goes according to plan, there will be 6 of them btw).
> 
> The four keywords were bands, bartending, beauty and borscht. I got two in the first chapter, yay!
> 
> I'm not sure about the rating yet, it might go up later, i will of course tag things accordingly.
> 
> Title is inspired by [Dean Lewis' Waves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KAM1wyQJsto).
> 
> Every kind of comment or feedback is greatly appreciated by poor, old me!  
> Okay, I think that's all I wanted to say for now, I hope you guys will like it, have fun! (this is sarcastic because Yuri is suffering and it's never fun but... I hope the promise of a happy ending can make it better)
> 
> PS: ao3 won't let me preview it, so i'm just gonna post and hope for the best

Yuri Plisetsky had this special talent to predict a bad day before it even began. 

It usually hit him right when he woke up, a low feeling in his stomach that kept him from getting up right away and he took a few minutes to stare at the ceiling and mentally prepare himself for another difficult day. His eyes followed the sun-bleached pattern of the yellowish painting as he tried to figure out what made him so anxious, and he blindly tapped around for his phone to check his schedule. 

One look at the calendar and he threw the phone away, turning around to mumble a few curse words into his pillow, while yanking a worn-out book from under it and dropping it on the ground. The old “sleep on it and the knowledge will magically transfer into your head at night” definitely didn’t work because he couldn’t recall a single sentence he had read the day before, and he let out a miserable whine at the thought of the paper he had to hand in next week and hadn’t even started. 

But that’s not why that day was going to be terrible, not even close. 

It was the motherfucking open-mic evening at work. 

The bar was always full when there was an event like this, and while it meant a fair amount of tips for Yuri, he also had to put up with a shit ton of disgustingly drunk people, horrible underground rock songs and poorly done music videos all night. Oh the money was good, but he had to _suffer for it_.

He liked working at the bar, liked to busy himself behind the counter, making drinks and watch the people around him. The large group that grew louder with every tequila shot, the desperate ones tripping over themselves to hook up with someone, the smaller groups of friends hanging out, talking and laughing with an ease, discussing their love lives, school, politics or whatever the news of the week happened to be. Or those who argued about philosophy and history, movies and music awards and books, exchanging ideas over a bottle of wine, their words becoming more and more slurred with each glass. He especially liked the ones sitting alone, their only company is a beer in front of them and Yuri on the other side of the counter. He watched them sulk over their drinks, and on a good day he sometimes even asked them about it, listening to stories about school, parents, pets, significant others, bosses, coworkers or whatever caused them to want to get drunk alone.

Some of them were regulars and Yuri greeted them almost as if he was their friend too. They would sit at the table closest to him, involving him in their conversation, asking for his opinion on certain matters, or just requesting songs. Yuri took care of them if they got too drunk, called a cab and made sure they were safe, watched them as they stumbled out of the place laughing, holding onto each other.

Most of these people never showed up on open-mic nights, and even if they did, they were swallowed by the crowd and the ear-piercing music anyway, so that was one more reason why he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the night.

He rolled out of his bed, cursing again, when he accidentally stepped on his phone and went to get ready for the day. His shift started at five, but he had a class before that. He thought about skipping it, like he did with most of them, but the Macroeconomics professor could be a real bitch with grading if he didn’t recognize a student from his lectures, and no matter how much he hated studying Management, he wasn’t going to make his life more difficult than it had to be.

He was almost out of the apartment when he noticed the small package lying on the kitchen table. 

Huh. He forgot about that completely. He brought it in when he got home from work the previous night, and he was too tired to even check who it was from or what was in it. 

He hesitated for a second. On one hand, he had more than enough time before he actually had to leave so he wasn’t going to be late from class, on the other, Yuri had a feeling it was a late gift from Viktor and Yuuri. They called him two weeks ago on his birthday, going on and on about how they promise they sent something but it was probably going to arrive later, coming from Japan and all, and he shouldn’t worry about it. 

(Yuri translated Katsudon’s words as “Viktor forgot to post it in time”.)

He didn’t worry about it. He almost forgot about the date himself, and besides Yuuri and Viktor, the only ones who bothered to at least send a message were Mila, Seung-gil and a few people from uni he got to know. He didn’t count the birthday wishes from the fans who still hadn’t forgotten about him, almost four years after he was forced to retire. 

He tore the crumpled, brown paper open and threw it on the table, staring at its contents with wide eyes. There was a short letter attached, and he held it carefully as he read the words of, judging by the nice, curled handwriting, Viktor.

 

_Dear Yurio,_

_I hope you have a wonderful birthday, and this package gets there in time! Yuuri and I would love to see you again, we miss you very much, so this year we decided not to give you a chance to say no. If you haven’t thrown it away already, you’re holding a plane ticket to Japan. We checked when your semester ends, you’re leaving the day after, so no excuses. We didn’t book the flight back, you can stay as long as you want, and yes, we mean that. As long as you want._

_Happy 25th birthday!  
Yuuri and Viktor_

_Ps: The scarf is from the Nishigori family. They also can’t wait to meet you again! Be sure to check the triplets’ youtube channel, as well as Axel’s short dance at nationals, because they will definitely want to hear your opinion._

 

Yuri blinked to chase away the tears that started burning his eyes and picked up the leopard print scarf to wrap it around his neck. He hadn’t seen Viktor and Yuuri since his grandpa’s funeral and that was more than two years ago, almost three now. They invited him from time to time, but there was always something that kept Yuri from visiting them. 

He felt conflicted. He hadn’t even left St. Petersburg this past year, let alone the country and a vacation sounded like just what he needed. Hasetsu was a beautiful place, and he missed Yuuri’s pork cutlet bowl almost as much as he missed those bastards.

But getting away from the grayness of this life would make it even worse when he has to come back.

He started getting used to it. There were days, quiet evenings, passing moments when he thought it wasn’t that bad. He even had a few friends at university, people who didn’t harass him with questions about his figure skating career, and while Yuri may not have actively seeked their company, he sometimes decided to tag along when they invited him somewhere, and he had a good time. 

Leaving would mean catching a glimpse of his old life, before everything went to shit. When the ice meant the world to him, and he had a family around, supporting him and loving him despite his every attempt to push them away and prove he didn’t need them. 

When Viktor and Yuuri still lived in St. Petersburg, hosting dinner parties for their rinkmates, and Mila was there to tease him endlessly, ruffling his hair and calling him little brat. When Yakov and Lilia was there to train him every day, exhausting his body and mind in a way Yuri hadn’t been able to since he retired. 

When he still had his skating, and the ice was his best friend, the one he could always rely on, before it betrayed him and forced him to end his career, never to be able to compete again. When Otabek never would have missed his birthday.

When his grandfather was still with him. 

A trip to Hasetsu would be nothing but a cruel reminder of what he’d lost over the years. 

He left the letter and the ticket on the table, deciding that he needs more time to think about this. The semester didn’t end for another four months, and they probably didn’t expect him to give an answer right now anyway. 

He took notes during the lecture like a machine, barely even registering the words in front of him. His mind went back to the letter resting on his table at home, and he tugged lightly on the scarf, fingers smoothing down the soft fabric, fiddling with the hem of it. 

The triplets were about sixteen now, and the fact that they still cared about him so much honestly overwhelmed him. He knew that Axel started ice dancing, but he’d never seen any of her performances, just like he stopped watching competitions at all. It’s how he lost most of the people he actually liked among the other skaters, them tiptoeing around the subject, not knowing how to approach him and what else to talk about, careful not to bring up the subject of figure skating.

Lee Seung-gil was an exception, he never seemed to be bothered by the fact that Yuri hadn’t seen any of his programs and he’d never told him about his medals and scores. They would chat about anything but that, even if it was just after he got home from a competition. He would Skype with Yuri, they would watch movies together and he acted like he did not just win the 4CC. It became even easier after he retired, and the two of them remained friends, sharing a few messages every week.

They weren’t that close, but Yuri still appreciated his friendship very much. 

He was forced to return his attention to reality when he felt a leg kicking his ankle under the table. 

“Do you need a moment alone with that scarf of yours?” The whisper reached his ears and he snapped his friend’s hand away from the fabric.

“Shut up,” he replied, but he knew that his weak remark wouldn’t stop Polina from laughing at him quietly.

“Sorry,” she said with an earnest look on her face, smoothing down her own dark brown hair before holding her ponytail next to the scarf. “Whoa, I should get one too, it looks really good with my hair colour. Where did you buy it?”

“It was a gift, and it obviously suits me better so you can stop dreaming about stealing my signature look.” His answer lacked the rude tone he was aiming for and he rolled his eyes when he saw the girl sticking her tongue out in response. 

He had long come to terms with the fact that Polina just wasn’t scared of him. She was much like Yuri himself used to be in a lot of ways, but her attitude towards him wasn’t anything new. None of these people seemed to think much of him these days, since most of them didn’t know who he was or they didn’t care, and even though he needed to grow accustomed to not being special, he now welcomed being just another face in the crowd. It made everything easier, disappearing among them, without having to face his past constantly. 

“Who stepped on your toes to make you so grumpy today?”

“You did, like two seconds ago,” he grabbed her hand to check the time on her wrist watch, and let out a relieved sigh when he realized that the lecture would end in about five minutes. 

Polina had already packed her own notebook away, pushed her feet up against the back of the chair in front of her and started tapping on her phone in a blatantly obvious way.

“Wanna come grab a drink with us after?”

“Can’t, I have a shift tonight.”

She looked up and made a show of staring at an imaginary camera with an eyebrow raised.

“You work at a pub, I’m sure we can somehow solve this problem.”

The professor finished the presentation and people stood up immediately, most of them ready to leave right away, coats and backpacks on. The volume rose around them as everyone began talking and complaining about the things they had to do and how they would absolutely do them tomorrow.

“It’s open-mic night,” Yuri replied a bit louder as he walked out, not even checking if Polina followed him.

“Ugh, then you’re on your own, dude,” she said and with a ‘See you around’ she took off, leaving Yuri alone as he stepped outside.

A rush of cold air hit him and he pulled the scarf more tightly around his neck, zipping up his jacket too. He couldn’t really afford to get sick and miss work, since nowadays that was his only reliable income. He sometimes still did commercials, promoting perfumes or clothing lines, but as time passed, he got less and less offers, and he never even considered accepting those that involved skating. He could barely live as it is, he couldn’t just lie in bed for a week, as much as the thought itself attracted him. 

He thought about calling Viktor on his way to the bar, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had no idea what he was supposed to say besides thank them for the birthday present, without agreeing to the trip he wasn’t sure he was ready to take. He was grateful that the package arrived late, because this way they had no way of knowing when Yuri would receive it, and he could have a few days to get used to the idea. 

Right now though he pushed it away, returning to what should have been a more pressing matter, his midterm essay about competition policy and regulation. 

It wasn’t like he was actually interested in the subject, much like studying Management wasn’t his biggest dream come true, but writing about how you shouldn’t play dirty didn’t seem difficult. That was all the reason he chose that topic but he still had absolutely no clue how he should even begin. It was one of the most important essays he had to write before his thesis, and he only had one week left until the deadline.

By choosing the subject he thought was the easiest and not being able to do it anyway, he just felt like an even bigger failure than he already was. 

His mind reeled from one thing to another, listing things he needed to get done, from a simple phone call to the essay and the open-mic night from hell he had to survive before that, and he felt numb, wishing he could just go home and hide under his blankets until it all magically goes away. 

Instead, he went to work, dropped his bag in the spare room for the employees in the back and tried to be civil around his boss, going so far as smiling at her when she actually apologized for having him work that day.

“I know you hate this kind of thing,” she said, “but you were the only one available.”

Meaning, he was the only part-timer who hadn’t found some bullshit excuse to skip the busiest, most tiring night all month, Yuri corrected her silently, but just shrugged as a sign of acknowledging her words.

He nodded at Denis, the only full-time employee and then quickly took his place behind the counter, helping him out, watching as people started appearing in small groups, bands arriving one after another, each member wearing the same stupid, excited smile. They of course, all brought friends, wives, husbands to watch them perform and soon Yuri was flooded with people demanding their drinks at 6 fucking pm. 

Three hours into his shift, when the open-mic event actually started, the place was full and Yuri got more tips than he usually did all night. He put his blonde hair up in a bun to stop it from falling in his face after he handed a Moscow Mule over to a guy and stopped himself from making a petty remark about them being in St. Petersburg. It wouldn’t have been funny enough to risk pissing the customer off.

“Anything else?” he asked the next group as he poured them four vodka shots, and the guy who paid for them looked up at him before leaning over the counter.

“Maybe your phone number for my friend?”

Yuri blinked, unimpressed, careful to keep a neutral expression on his face.

“Depends. Which one?”

The other man smiled, all white teeth and friendly playfulness, and dropped his gaze from Yuri’s eyes to his lips.

“Me, I’m the friend.” He slightly turned his head away in embarrassment, but Yuri saw through it, it was more of an act than honest awkwardness. 

“Are you in one of these bands?” he asked instead of giving a straight answer, trying to determine the level of attitude he could afford showing towards him.

“Yes I am.” Seeing his proud smile, Yuri couldn’t help but reply with a smirk.

“Then no.”

He thought that was it, and he turned away, picking up a few empty glasses left on the counter. 

“So you’re in a band too and what? Not allowed to sleep with enemy?”

Now that was downright rude, assuming Yuri belonged to any of those groups. He shot a dark look at the man, who still didn’t realize the subtle ‘fuck off’ hinted at him.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed at Yuri, lifting his hands in mocking way of self-defence, “huh. You just looked familiar, I thought I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

For a split second, Yuri froze, a knot sinking low in his stomach as he silently plead for the man not to recognize him, not to figure out where he might have known Yuri from. He didn’t let it show, even held his head a bit higher in pride and turned his attention towards the next person, before changing his mind and turning around again.

“This was even more lame and desperate than your first try. You seriously need to up your game a little.”

He wasn’t sure if the guy had said anything after that, because he shut him off completely, not even giving him a chance at continuing that conversation. He was used to being a popular choice for flirting, he could handle that, and his boss was cool with him saying no in a less friendly manner too, if the situation required it. But the chance of someone recognizing him as a skater at that shitty bar of all places had caught him off-guard. He had no problem with that either, what he wasn’t prepared for was the questions he always got.

What happened when he was injured? Is there no way he could go back to skating? Does his hip still hurt? Does it disturb him in his everyday life? 

What is he doing now that his career is over? It’s been four years what has he been doing all this time? Does he miss skating? Does he have any new goals to pursue? 

His honest reaction to these questions might just cost him his job. 

He was almost grateful when the first band started playing after setting up all the equipment and he had a hard time understanding the orders over the blasting music, let alone having a proper conversation. On the screen behind the small stage they played a music video they shot for the song.

Yuri worked quickly and quietly, filling glasses and handing back change like it was the most natural thing in the world, glancing up at the stage when he heard something that didn’t remind him of the sound of a plane crash. At least half the bands brought their music videos with them, or just pictures to show in the background, and more often than not they were more interesting than the music they were playing.

Everytime he turned around or poured a drink, Yuri looked up at the screen and it was how he almost dropped a bottle of Jack Daniels when he caught a glimpse of a familiar pair of dark brown eyes in one of the videos. 

He put the bottle down, not daring to tear his eyes away from the screen as he waited to see that face again. 

He must have been mistaken. He only saw him for a second, his mind probably played a trick on him, it was just someone who looked like _him_ , because it was fucking impossible, he couldn’t show up just like that, as a face in the crowd in a poorly done music video for an amateur russian rock band.

Yuri swallowed hard and shook his head, putting the glass of whisky in front of the person on the other side of the counter, and distractedly took the money from her.

He glanced up again, just to be absolutely sure.

There he was again, and this time, Yuri couldn’t have possibly mistaken him for someone else. 

Standing in the middle of the framed shot was Otabek, and even though they only showed him for a second, the image seared itself into Yuri’s brain and he was unable to see anything else after that. 

His hair was longer than Yuri remembered, but he still had the familiar undercut, and his intense stare burnt a hole through Yuri’s mind. The whole scene couldn’t have been longer than two seconds, but Yuri felt like time stopped around him, and he watched the video closely, desperate for another glimpse at the man. 

There was another cut a few moments later, of a hand closing around a wrist, and even though he hadn’t seen him in years, Yuri instantly recognized the strong fingers curling around a slender wrist. 

And then there was close-up again, fingerless gloves soothing down his hair, never breaking eye contact with the camera, and through that, with Yuri, who gripped the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

He tore his gaze from the screen and willed himself to breathe properly, but he couldn’t help the lump forming in his throat as he scanned the crowd, searching for Otabek. It was a common thing that people close to the band came to these events, especially if they starred in the music video for the song they were playing. He looked behind the people standing at the counter, stretching his neck to see the band coming down from the stage, to check if Otabek was there, waiting for them, but he couldn’t see anything. 

People started getting impatient as he stood there doing nothing and he turned to Denis, letting him know that he would take his first break now. He all but ran out from behind the counter, frantically searching for the familiar face, and he ignored the weight in his stomach that warned him not to, the one that urged him to not let Otabek see him if he really was there. That weight wanted him to look as small as possible, lowering his head and silently returning to work, keeping his eyes on the drinks to avoid finding what he’s looking for.

But no matter how many times he roamed around the bar, Otabek was nowhere to be seen. He returned to his place embarrassed at his own feelings, of how hopeful and desperate he’d become to find him, to just see his face for a second, even if they don’t get a chance to speak.

He did what his gut told him to do and forced himself to get back to work, paying attention to the paying guests instead of chasing an image of a ghost, and Yuri moved swiftly behind the counter, pouring shots and collecting tips, ashamed at how often he looked at the crowd still, rather than the person talking to him. 

He wished he could work with his eyes closed, because that would have made things a lot easier. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, messing it all up, and he took a moment to fix it, leaving it in a ponytail before returning to the next person.

“What can I get you?” he sounded rude, almost barked the words at the guy, he knew that, and he stopped dead in his tracks when he recognized the singer from the band. The man shouted over the music, listing his order for the whole group which consisted of six tequila shots and a beer.

Yuri almost asked. He stopped himself last minute, but he seriously considered it, and he knew without a doubt that his old self wouldn’t have had a problem with it. 20-year-old Yuri would have refused to take their orders, demanding that first they had to tell him where Otabek was and how to find him, and how they even knew him in the first place.

But of course, that Yuri wouldn’t need to ask because at 20 years old, he and Otabek were still best friends, sharing every detail of their lives with each other, and Yuri would have been the first to know if Otabek ever decided to star in a music video. 

He kept quiet, serving the drinks and biting out the price, watching the singer in front of him as he took the glasses and started handing out the shots, keeping one to himself. The band playing on the stage had just finished their song, and the cheering was nowhere near as loud as the music had been.

If Yuri wanted to ask, now was the time to do it. The guy stood up, reaching for the beer last, and Yuri turned his back on him, when over the clapping and the yelling, in the momentarily silence while the next band was getting ready, he heard him speak. 

“Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, just a second.”

Yuri froze.

He knew that voice, would have recognized it anywhere, and he spun around his heels in an instant, locking eyes with the man standing behind the singer.

Otabek was watching him closely, his eyes widening just for a fraction of a second when Yuri turned to face him. He seemed just as shocked to see him as Yuri did, and he drew in a sharp breath, stepping closer to the counter. 

Yuri was stranded in his place, unable to move. 

“Hi,” Otabek said quietly, shifting from one leg to another. Yuri felt himself tense up, his shoulders and stomach clenched tightly and he hid his shaking hands behind the counter. He stared, searching for the words that didn’t want to come, and Otabek stayed silent, waiting for him to say something, his expression unreadable.

“Am I working here alone or what?” The voice of an annoyed Denis jerked Yuri back to reality and he dropped his shoulders, breathing in like just woke up from a dream. 

“Yeah, no, sorry,” he mumbled, and he looked around before stepping to the person on Otabek’s left, asking for his order. His gaze returned to his former friend, lingering there for a moment, and Otabek dropped his eyes from Yuri, saying something he couldn’t hear over the first few accords of the next band’s song. He turned away and vanished in the crowd just as quickly as he appeared a second ago. 

Yuri finished that night relying purely on muscle memory, and he couldn’t even recall how he got home when he finally crashed into his bed at 4 am. The 10-hour-long shift was nothing compared to how that one short meeting with Otabek wore him down, and he fell asleep almost immediately, briefly remembering that he had a class at 10 am the next morning which he in no way was prepared for. 

He slept through every alarm and woke up at noon, not even having the energy to feel bad about missing the lecture. Polina texted him twice during class, and he quickly wrote back, lying that he had decided to stay home and work on his essay. 

Which he really needed to do by the way, and he let out a painful groan, before pulling himself out of bed to make himself a cup of coffee and dropping down in front of his laptop, still wearing his pyjamas. He stared at the screen, and felt the empty document mocking him, so he wrote down the title to make himself feel better. 

Two hours and exactly 152 words later, his phone rang.

“What,” he barked out, after he checked the number.

“Come hang out with me.” 

“No.”

“Oh, come on,” Polina said, and Yuri could hear the eye-rolling in her words, “you need a break.”

“This shit won’t write itself.”

“I know, but we still have a week and you said you’re done with half of it. That’s, like, way more than what I have, dude.”

Yuri looked at the one, lonely paragraph he had, wondering if he should at least feel a little bit guilty about lying. He didn’t.

“Yeah, well, maybe I just hate you.”

“You love me,” Polina stated with confidence, “also, please note that I didn’t exactly ask you.”

“I’m not going, Lina.” Yuri sighed, rubbing his eyes and he grabbed his empty mug to get a refill. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Fine,” she huffed, and Yuri was grateful that she’d let it go, “but hey, call me if you change your mind. And eat something, because I know you haven’t.”

Yuri promised he would and hung up, setting his phone on silent after that. He wandered around the flat, taking a break from the essay, and made a sandwich, because Polina was right, he usually ate at totally random times because of his messed-up schedule, or just forgot to eat at all. 

He fiddled with his phone with his eyebrows drawn together, chewing on a pen he found on his desk. 

He didn’t even say hi. 

Otabek was there, right in front of him, with that goddamn serious face of his, and after five years of radio silence, Yuri didn’t even say hi. 

He should have asked him what he was doing there, how he ended up in that small shithole of a pub, the one where Yuri worked of all places. He opened a few apps on his phone, closing them immediately, not being able to bring himself to check his instagram or twitter. 

He had long unfollowed most of his skater friends, Otabek among them, because he didn’t want to see the pictures of practices and ice shows, the videos of a new jump they’d learnt, or group photos during competitions he was no longer part of. It wasn’t surprising that he didn’t know about Otabek being in Russia, but it still would have been nice to get a little warning somehow.

He thought about texting him, just to make it clear that he had meant to say hello, to explain that he was just surprised to see him, before he remembered that he didn’t even have his number since he deleted it five years ago. 

And what would he even say? How does one just send a text out of nowhere after all this time? 

He threw his phone on his bed, and after a few seconds of contemplating just how important this essay really was, he climbed under the covers and went back to sleep.

 

 

The next time he saw Otabek, he was prepared. 

The pub was quiet when he got there on Sunday afternoon, with only a handful of people in the back of the room, next to the now empty stage, and Yuri was sitting behind the counter flipping through the pages of his textbook he carried there, feeling unusually motivated to write the essay the next day. The deadline was Friday, and at that moment, it seemed awfully far away, so he took a few notes and tried to make the best of the slow shift at the bar.

He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice Denis coming back from his break, and it took him a moment to answer when he heard his name.

“There was a guy here looking for you the other day,” he said, and Yuri didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. “I told him to come back today, if that’s alright.”

There was a question mark hidden in the sentence, but Yuri ignored it. 

“It’s fine,” he replied, turning his attention back to the book, but the words in front of him had lost their meaning, and after a few seconds of him staring blankly at the pages, he gave up.

“Friend of yours?”

That was a good question, one he certainly didn’t want to answer. He wasn’t going to get into the details of his complicated history with Otabek, especially because first he himself had to sort out his own thoughts on the matter.

“Kind of.” He shrugged, and Denis raised an eyebrow at him, but stopped asking. 

The next hour passed slowly, with Yuri tapping his fingers on the cover of his book, only interrupted twice to serve another round of drinks for the group in the back. 

He considered the possibility of Otabek not showing up, wondering if that was what he was hoping for, but quickly discarded the idea. If he was anything like he used to be, Otabek was going to look for him again, and this time Yuri didn’t have a huge crowd of customers to hide behind. 

But at least now he was prepared, or at least that’s what he told himself.

He certainly didn’t feel prepared when two hours into his shift, the door opened and Otabek walked in, wearing a black duffle coat, the tips of his ears slightly red from the cold russian wind and took a seat on the stool opposite of Yuri. 

“Hi,” he said, much like the previous night, but this time, Yuri actually replied.

“Hey.” He glanced at the corner of the room, checking to see if the group sitting there wanted a refill, just to give him something to do, something he could busy himself with, to escape Otabek’s eyes that refused to leave his face. Almost all of them had fresh drinks, and he silently cursed, appreciating the irony of not having to work the one time when he would really want to.

He stood up from the stool and grabbed an empty glass anyway, dropping his book on the counter. 

“What are you doing?” he heard the question, and he scoffed, because he felt braver and more comfortable like this, keeping his eyes on the beer he filled the glass with.

“What does it look like? I’m bartending,” he replied, putting it down on the counter in front of Otabek, gesturing him to drink. The other man shot a questioning look at him, before reaching for the glass.

“How did you know…?”

“It’s what your friend ordered for you the other day,” he interrupted him, “but more importantly, what are _you_ doing?”

Otabek shifted on the chair uncomfortably, his eyes darting away for a second before looking at him again. Yuri realized his mistake and rushed to correct himself. “I meant in Russia. What are you doing in St. Petersburg?”

“I live here.” His reply was calm, collected, the momentary awkwardness gone completely, and Yuri was baffled by how casually he threw that info out there.

“Since when?”

“Um… I moved here a few months ago, I think, almost a year now?”

Yuri stilled at that, his hand that fidgeted with his hoodie stopping in midmotion.

“A year? And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to know.”

Yuri felt a punch in the gut as Otabek held his gaze, almost daring him to say something to that. 

“I... “ he looked down, feeling anger wash over him all of a sudden, more at himself than at the other man. “I suppose that’s fair,” he finished the sentence in a cold voice, and he stepped back, leaning against the furniture behind him.

“Why did you move?”

“I’ve been training to become a coach. I started back in Almaty, then Yakov offered me a position since he is retiring next year.”

He didn’t even know Yakov was going to retire. The man had been planning to as long as Yuri could remember, but hearing that it was a sure thing now was entirely different.

“Coach Altin, huh?”

Otabek tilted his head, smiling softly at him. 

“Is it so hard to believe?”

“No,” Yuri shook his head, and his next words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, “just don’t take on the ones like me, they will destroy you.”

“Trust me, there’s no one like you.” 

They were both quiet after that, and Yuri took his seat again on the stool before checking to see if anyone needed him. Denis was on his break, and the place was still practically empty, as it usually was on Sunday afternoons. Otabek was watching him carefully, examining his face and Yuri could see the question coming before he even opened his mouth.

“So how have you been?”

He shrugged. He wasn’t feeling bad, nor exceptionally well, and he hated this question because he never knew how to respond. He settled for an “I’m fine”, before pointing to his book on the counter.

“I’m going to school,” he started telling about it mainly to avoid more questions regarding his well-being, and Otabek listened eagerly, asking about his lectures, classmates, parts of his studies that interested him, exams and Yuri talked, because this was a safe choice of subject, distant and unemotional, just what he needed. 

He talked about how much he hated Financial Management, but Marketing was almost enjoyable, and Otabek even mocked him when he mentioned that he had done a paper on organisational behaviour last semester.

He told him about how he bullshitted his way through the Microeconomics exam and by some miracle, ended up in the top 10 of the class, and how Polina refused to talk to him for three days except for when she cussed at him. He talked about the people he had met, and the essay he had to write next week, and Otabek listened, watched him as he went on and on about how boring it was, picking up the book and flipping through it. 

“Is this it?” he asked and Yuri made a face.

“Yeah. I guess it would be much easier if I cared about this stuff.”

Otabek’s expression changed just ever so slightly, as he looked up from the book with a light blush on his cheeks and determination in his eyes. He followed Yuri’s movements as he went to serve a couple who’d come in a few minutes ago, and waited patiently for him to return before he spoke.

“Can I help?”

“Can you what now?”

“With your essay. I might be able to help.” Otabek was still blushing, but his voice was unwavering as ever while he explained what he meant, and handed the book back.

“I’m… it’s not here,” he faltered, and he still genuinely didn’t understand where Otabek was going with this. 

“That’s okay, you can bring it next time.”

“...next time?” Yuri was aware that he must have sounded pretty dumb, repeating everything the other man had said, but he was at a loss for words. 

A next time meant that they were going to do this again, sit with each other casually and talk like friends do, writing essays together like it’s nothing, like they did not just meet again after five years. 

A next time, which meant Otabek had fully intended to return into Yuri’s life, and now he was looking at him with a silent expectation, like he knew damn well the weight of his words and was waiting for Yuri to make his decision.

Which also meant that this was a chance to wave goodbye and forget each other, Yuri suddenly realized. Otabek was giving him an out with this stretched-out silence, not forcing Yuri to say something right away, he had given him time to think about his answer, and Yuri hesitated.

Five years was a long time, Yuri had still been young, inexperienced and childish, and he had hope that things would turn out differently this time, but it was still a huge risk and leap of faith. The fact that he really, desperately needed help with his essay also played a role in his decision, even if there was a persistent voice in his mind reminding him that Polina would be just as capable of helping, if not more. 

There were a lot of things he could list, that went against restarting their friendship. Because it would definitely mean a restart, oh, he had no doubt about that, that after a second meeting there would be a third, then a fourth, and before he knows it, they are best friends again. 

But the thing was, he wanted to say yes.

 

“Okay. Next time.”


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was quite amazing, really, how many different emotions you could discover in those dark brown eyes if you paid attention. Yuri did, and during the one short meeting they had the previous week, he found that he still remembered how to understand the language they were speaking, he still recognized the surprise, understanding, amusement, the hope and the disappointment and now that little fraction of sadness that made his stomach clench, especially because he was the reason behind them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've arrived with Part 2!
> 
> I'm planning to update every Sunday and I hope I can hold this promise... tbh i'm a very slow writer but i can't seem to stop writing this so odds are i can get a chapter done in a week if real life doesn't get in the way.
> 
> Anyway, here we are, i hope you'll enjoy it, and if you leave a comment i will love you forever and cherish every word.

Asking for Otabek’s phone number had been awkward, to say the least. Yuri thought about not saying anything, counting on pure luck that nothing would come up and he could make it to their next meeting, but then he realized that the longer he waited, the more embarrassing it was going to be. 

He lied that his previous phone had died and he lost all the numbers in it, but he could tell Otabek didn’t believe him. No surprise there, with the way his voice faltered and he forced himself to hold Otabek’s gaze, which only made him blush. Otabek nodded with a small, understanding smile, writing down his number with an amused expression, but he didn’t call him out on the blatant lie.

And with that move, he provided Yuri with a way to cancel the whole thing, and then possibly change his name, move to Peru and hide forever. 

He said yes in the heat of the moment, under the pressure of Otabek’s presence but as soon as he left, Yuri had begun to question himself. 

He had had enough on his plate with school and work, and he barely managed to hold onto either of them, missing classes because of his late night shifts, writing essays last minute, often at the pub during the quiet hours, being constantly tired while deadlines were piling up. The last thing he needed was a distraction in the form of his… _whatever_ Otabek was at the moment, occupying his thoughts when they really needed to focus on competition policy and how to write a paper on it.

Then again, Otabek did say he could help and Yuri believed him. He’d always thought Otabek was smarter than him, even if he rarely ever voiced this opinion. Not in the sense of being able to recite the names of every pope in history ever or solve a math problem in under one and a half minutes, no. 

He was smart about important things, like the human nature and life. Otabek had a deep understanding of the motivations behind a person’s behaviour, or the dreams and goals that drive people, communities and companies. He could quickly connect the dots when it came to politics and the media, as opposed to Yuri, who always based his opinion on his first impression. 

In fact, Yuri used to enjoy discussing news with him when they visited each other, and he often played up his own reactions just to watch him get worked up about an issue, thinking about possible outcomes and trying to determine which one was the most likely to happen, making assumptions and guesses Yuri never would have thought of, and honestly, never would have cared to do so. He didn’t have much of an interest in these things, but he liked listening to Otabek, when he was deep in thought, talking more to himself than to Yuri, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

But most importantly, Otabek, for some magical reason knew how to do his taxes, and that alone was reason enough to trust him with anything. 

So yes, Yuri needed his help with his essay and he wasn’t going to cancel their meeting or appointment or date or whatever it was. They would get a cup of coffee and have a perfectly impersonal, academic conversation about competition policy and regulations.

His legs bounced up and down under the table as he waited for his last lecture to end on that unusually warm Tuesday afternoon and when it did, he jumped up, grabbing his already packed bag. He headed to the door after he threw a ‘bye’ in Polina’s way, not even looking at her. He heard her hurry after him and when she managed to catch up, she stopped in front of Yuri, blocking his way with two hands on his shoulders and suspicion in her eyes.

“You have a date,” she stated.

“What? No, get out of my way,” Yuri pushed past her and Polina let him, but she stayed by his side.

“You can’t fool me,” she said, “you’re all dressed up and your shoes are clean. I also saw you checking your phone every five minutes, and once you braided your hair and then undid it. You have a date.”

“And you have a problem, Sherlock,” Yuri replied, careful not to let his expression show anything that might further fuel Polina’s excitement. So what if he took a few minutes in the morning to decide what to wear? And yes, maybe he did think about braiding his hair and then changed his mind, but it was also a good way to kill time during class.

Otabek used to be his best friend, it was natural to be a little nervous about this afternoon, hence, the phone checking. There, it was all explained. 

He didn’t even try to convince Polina though, he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t listen.

“Please,” she said, her high heels clicking on the stairs as she tried to keep up with Yuri. “I’m obviously a Watson.”

“You’re the only person I know who would rather be Watson,” he said, trying to change the course of conversation. “don’t you want Lucy Liu as your sidekick?”

“Lucy is not a sidekick, but you have a point.” Polina shrugged and then sighed, possibly because of the mental images of Lucy Liu that popped into her mind, but before Yuri could escape, she shook her head. “Anyway, you’re changing the subject. Who’s your date?”

“It’s not a date!” he snarled, losing his patience.

“A-ha! So you _are_ meeting someone!” Polina pointed a finger at him. “Do you need me to follow you and make sure he’s not a serial killer? Spy on him just to be safe? Look him up on the internet?”

“Don’t,” he said quickly. The last thing he needed was Polina to dig up old articles and youtube videos on Otabek and their friendship, or find one of the wild theories regarding the two of them on some Yuri’s Angels fansite. “He’s just a friend, so stop it.”

Just a friend. Oddly enough, Otabek used to be more to Yuri than _just a friend_ , and now he was less than that. They were practically strangers.

“Fine,” Polina gave up, raising an eyebrow in disapprovement. Her worrying would have been touching if it hadn’t been so annoying. “But I’m gonna be a phone call away if you need an excuse to leave. You know my fake crying, it’s Oscar-worthy.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Polina stopped him again, “you seem pretty excited about it, so I just want you to know that I’m always ready for a murder.”

“Yeah, mine,” Yuri pushed her away and then yanked his notebook out of his bag, shoving it in her hand. “Here, take this. Now, piss off, I’m late.”

Polina gave him a grateful smile and waved her phone in front of his face one last time before heading out, leaving him alone. Yuri rolled his eyes at her back while searching for his own to check the time.

He wasn’t late, in fact, it was way too early to leave yet, so he took his time walking to the café instead of taking the bus, enjoying the sunny afternoon, uncharacteristic for March in Russia. He still arrived first and lingered outside for a while, waiting for Otabek, trying to calm his breathing and his nerves. Eventually he went inside and after ordering a coffee for himself, sat down in the back, not facing the door so he wouldn’t check it every second. 

His phone chimed, and the first thought that crossed his mind was that it was probably Otabek, with a short message that he had to cancel, something had come up and he would find some bullshit reason not to show up. Or maybe saying that he’s sorry but he can’t do this, he changed his mind, he doesn’t want to be around him, just so Yuri could turn his back on him again, like last time. Yuri wouldn’t blame him for it, but his stomach did a backflip at the idea.

It was Polina. Yuri sighed and cursed at himself for being such an idiot, acting like a nervous wreck, panicking and making things up without checking the text first.

_16.52 Lina: good luck for your not-a-date_

Yuri almost laughed out loud. Maybe he should have told her that Otabek was only helping him with his essay, but for one, that would have meant admitting he had trouble writing it by himself and two, it still wouldn’t have convinced Polina. She’d probably say something about Yuri never asking for help, and how special this person must be to make him get over himself.

_16.52 me: mind your own business  
16.53 me: but thanks_

He had just hit ‘send’ when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he almost dropped his phone. 

“Hey, sorry,” Otabek sat down on the other side of the table, smiling apologetically at him. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.” He took off his coat and threw it on the back of the chair next to him, rolling up the sleeves of his navy blue sweater and brushing through his messy black hair with his fingers, ruffling it up a little bit. This dishevelled look was definitely new to Yuri, and he hadn’t even noticed when they met at the pub.

He caught himself staring and turned his head away, examining the curtain next to him like he expected it to solve all of his problems.

“It’s fine,” he said, tapping on the paper cup, his fingers following the lines of the coffeeshop’s logo on it. He was trying to decide how to proceed from there, while Otabek was busy ordering. Part of him expected something to come up last minute, making it impossible for them to meet, and when he wasn’t nervous about that, he was busy convincing himself that he was too cool to write a list of questions he could ask if the silence became awkward.

It did right after the waiter left them alone, and Yuri noticed that Otabek was watching his nervous tapping with a look that was almost sad.

Huh. That was one thing that hadn’t changed, Yuri noted. Otabek rarely laughed and never yelled or cried, instead he communicated every feeling with his eyes. There, you could read him like an open book, if you knew what to look for, and the stoic expression didn’t distract you. 

It was quite amazing, really, how many different emotions you could discover in those dark brown eyes if you paid attention. Yuri did, and during the one short meeting they had the previous week, he found that he still remembered how to understand the language they were speaking, he still recognized the surprise, understanding, amusement, the hope and the disappointment and now that little fraction of sadness that made his stomach clench, especially because he was the reason behind them. 

“Yuri…,” Otabek started hesitantly, glancing up from his hands, but Yuri quickly interrupted him, saying the first thing he could think of. He knew that his obvious uneasiness bothered the other man, and he had a feeling that Otabek was about to point it out.

“I have a question before we talk about my essay,” he said, dropping his hands from the table, hiding them in his lap “I wanted to ask you last week but…” he shrugged, not finishing the sentence.

Otabek raised an eyebrow and leaned back on the chair, bracing himself against whatever he thought Yuri wanted to ask.

“Tell me,” Yuri squinted his eyes and tilted his head, “how the hell did you end up in that music video?”

Otabek let out a sigh, half embarrassed and half relieved, propping his elbows up on the table.

“Oh, yes. I owe you an explanation for that.”

He didn’t, actually, but Yuri wasn’t going to mention that, he was too curious.

“The drummer is one my skaters’ brother. He came by the rink to pick him up, saw me and… I don’t know, he just asked. I don’t even know him that well.”

Yuri’s eyebrows shot up, and he promptly ignored the familiar, dull pain upon hearing the words ‘my skaters’. 

“Are you seriously telling me that that’s all it took for you to say yes? A complete stranger asks you to be in his lame band’s lame music video and you’re like, oh, okay, there aren’t enough embarrassing recordings about me on the internet, let’s make another one?”

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy,” Otabek made a face that summed up his opinion on the whole band, and made Yuri snort. “But Dima heard us, he got really excited and begged me to do it. You can’t just say no to a 7-year-old kid.”

“Sure you can,” Yuri argued, “Shut up, you spoiled little brat, I’m not gonna do it. That’s it, done.”

Otabek was shaking his head with an amused smile.

“I don’t regret agreeing to it,” he said, his eyes warm and fond, not leaving Yuri’s, “it led me to you, after all.”

Yuri sucked in a breath and tensed up in a second, grabbing his coffee cup to hold onto something. His skin suddenly felt too warm and he hoped it wasn’t because he was blushing.

“Don’t say shit like that,” he whispered, looking away, and he hated how obviously affected he was by Beka's words. He had always had a tendency to throw in these comments, half-sentences that made Yuri fall apart, except he wasn’t there to pick him up afterwards, and that’s what made it so painful. It sucked five years ago and it sucked now, and so he instantly put an end to it. 

Otabek was visibly taken aback by Yuri’s reaction, his eyes widened and he withdrew his arms from the table, leaning back again, as if he wanted to literally give Yuri some space.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Forget it,” Yuri cut in. There was no point apologizing when Otabek had no idea what he’d done wrong. He fished his book out of his bag and threw it on the table as a distraction. “This is why we’re here. I didn’t bring the essay, though.”

Otabek coughed and picked up the book, his discomfort undeniable as he glanced up at him carefully.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because I haven’t written anything useful,” Yuri shrugged, crossing his arms. “It’s not worth reading.”

“Okay,” Otabek nodded, and Yuri felt a bit more confident. This was also a familiar reaction from the other man. He never said anything just for the sake of _saying something_ , and neither of them were interested in the polite lies people usually told each other, like ‘I’m sure it’s not that bad’ or some bullshit no one took seriously or believed even for a second. 

Otabek flipped through the pages with a weirdly blank expression on his face, which immediately raised Yuri’s suspicion. He watched him read through a summary at the end of the first chapter before he spoke.

“Oh my god,” he said, his eyes widening in disbelief, “You have no idea about this stuff.”

“Uh, no.” Otabek closed to the book and put it back on the table. “But I have a feeling that you don’t need me to understand any of this, you already know what the book says.”

“Hey, I’m the one calling _you_ out on your bullshit, don’t turn this around…”

“You just don’t know how to write an essay.” 

Yuri could swear Otabek enjoyed mocking him, by the way his eyes glinted with amusement. 

“Listen, asshole, you’re playing with my future here.”

“No, no, I would never do that,” Otabek replied with a more serious tone, “but I also went to university in case you forgot, and wrote my fair share of essays, so I can definitely help you with that.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.”

Yuri rolled his eyes, remembering those late-night Skype calls with his friend, when he was dying of boredom, watching him take notes or with his nose in a book, Yuri lying on his bed, browsing Twitter or sometimes disturbing Otabek with memes and cat videos. They used to hang out like this a lot, just being together, both of them minding their own business with their cameras on, in comfortable silence. 

Yuri never told him how much he liked those quiet evenings, how much it meant to him that even if they didn’t have time for anything else, they still found a way to just be together. 

“My point is,” he continued, “that you just start writing without knowing where it’ll take you, and I know that it works for you like 90% of the time, but you’re struggling with this one for whatever reason so you need a plan now.”

“How the fuck do you know how I write my essays?” Yuri asked, dumbfounded and Otabek laughed at him.

“Lucky guess,” he answered and the fond look was back again with full force, making Yuri break eye-contact and turning his attention to his now empty coffee cup. “You haven’t changed at all.”

Yuri snorted. 

“Yeah, right.”

“No, I mean it. You grew up, but you haven’t changed, not as much as you think.”

“Otabek, stop.”

Something in Yuri’s voice must have had the desired effect, because the other man seemed to have forgotten how to even breathe. He looked almost hurt as he stared at Yuri with his mouth hanging open, before he cast his eyes down and blinked twice, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. It’s… never mind.”

Yuri truly didn’t care what made him react like this, as long as he shut up about his past and how different or similar it was compared to his present. That conversation was bound to end up at figure skating or their friendship, both of which Yuri would have done anything to avoid. He didn’t want to hear anything about how he was still the same person, he didn’t need Otabek to tell him that his injury didn’t fuck his whole life up. He had heard that more than enough times from various people trying to console him, before one by one they slowly understood that Yuri didn’t give a single fuck about what they thought.

They didn’t know, none of them did. That injury was only the beginning of the shitstorm Yuri’s life had become afterwards, and he couldn’t help but pinpoint that accident as the turning point, when bad things started happening. 

So now he had a pre-injury life and a post-injury life, and he did his best to ignore the first one, in order to avoid comparing the two. It was hard enough to get used to it, after spending the first year either yelling at everyone or walking around like a ghost and just when he started getting better, he lost his grandfather. The rest was history, one he very much wanted to forget.

If Otabek wanted to bring his pre-injury life up, Yuri was going to disappoint him. That life did not exist in his mind, it was easier to pretend it never had. It helped him survive, and these days, that was his only focus, surviving, with his head just barely above the water, gasping for air as he struggled to keep himself from drowning. Sometimes he couldn’t find a reason why he’s trying so hard.

The silence stretched out long, not exactly awkward, but heavy, uncomfortable and it sat between them like a closed gate keeping them apart. Yuri fiddled with his pen and lifted his head with a stubborn glance at Otabek.

“Whatever,” he said, putting an end to the whole conversation, “you said I needed a plan, so tell me about this essay-writing magic of yours.”

In the end, Otabek’s help did prove useful. He provided Yuri with a number of tips on how to build up his essay, create a structure he could follow so he wouldn’t get lost in the sea of things he wanted to write about. They sat in the café until its closing time, Yuri scribbling down leading sentences and notes to his introduction, body and summary, all while Otabek kept asking questions tirelessly, to lead him in the right direction.

He asked what Yuri wanted to write here or there, if he wanted to explain something further, or give a real life example to sneak in a more interesting bit among the dry definitions and theories. It gave Yuri tons of new ideas on how to make his essay even enjoyable instead of just summarizing his entire textbook on the topic solely because he had to.

He threw his pen on the table when he ran out of coffee again, glancing up at Otabek with genuine surprise in his eyes.

“Huh. It’s so weird, it seems… easy, even. I thought this would be impossible to write.”

Otabek gave a shy shrug, but his smile was proud.

“I’m glad I could help.”

“Now, don’t be so smug about it,” Yuri warned him, pointing his finger at the other man. “I could have done it alone, too.”

“I’m sure,” he nodded, and his eyes were shining as he leaned forward, smacking Yuri’s finger away with a mischievous smile. “What did you say your word count was?”

Yuri made a face. “Three… hundred?”

“I think your notes are longer than that already.”

“Shut up.”

They only got up from their table when they realized that the coffeeshop would soon close. It took some convincing but Yuri was insistent and he wanted to pay for both of them, as a ‘thank you for basically writing my essay for me’. 

“You really don’t need to do that,” Otabek told him, “you said it yourself, you could have done this without me.”

Yuri dropped his head, pretending to look for his wallet and hid his smile behind his hair. He thought he would regret meeting Otabek again, but after a while, he forgot to be nervous around him and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good about his studies so he felt like he owed him much more than the price of two coffees and a blueberry muffin. “I know, but… just accept it, okay?”

“If you insist,” Otabek replied politely.

“Well, I do.”

They stepped outside together, Otabek holding the door open for him like he always did before. Yuri stopped in front of the coffeeshop, looking around awkwardly, the weight of having to say goodbye pushing him down, and once again, he found himself looking for the right words. 

It was probably a horrible idea, but he wanted to see him again. He already saw where this was leading but he couldn’t resist, not this time, not when he was all alone, with all of his friends living in another country, Japan or even further, busy being grown-ups, building families and moving on. This time, he had no one.

However, he wasn’t sure Otabek was on the same page as him. Yuri thought it was perfectly reasonable to offer his help, they used to be best friends, and they just met again after five years, Otabek was probably just as overwhelmed as he was, and in a moment of weakness he asked to see him again. 

He wondered if Otabek still wanted to be friends now that he spent a whole afternoon with him and saw firsthand what a useless mess he became. He would understand if he didn’t.

Otabek joined him a moment later, putting his scarf around his neck before hiding his hands in his pockets. 

“Well… good luck with your essay,” he said with a tight-lipped smile and this time, Yuri couldn’t read his eyes, he couldn’t decide if he should say something or not.

He managed to reply with a short “Thanks,” and waited. Maybe Otabek would say something, offer to proof-read it or figure out some dumb excuse to get Yuri to meet him again, but moments passed and the other man was looking at him quietly.

Otabek took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, averting his eyes.

“Good night, Yura.” 

 

Yuri had a shift next day, and classes in the morning before that, and he went through the day distracted, doodling cats in his notebooks, half paying attention to the lectures. His notes from the previous day were in his backpack with him, and his mind kept wandering back to them, the essay he now had inspiration to write but no time and by addition, Otabek, who had spent his whole afternoon working on a project he had no idea about, and probably didn’t even care for. 

Yuri willed himself not to think about the possible reasons behind this, and the fact that they said goodbye without even mentioning when or if they would see each other again. He definitely did not dwell on the sudden appearance of his old nickname which he hadn’t heard in years.

He was grateful for the busy afternoon at the pub. He had no time to think as he went around constantly cleaning tables, pouring drinks, lifting and carrying beer cases, and by the time he was halfway through his shift, he was pleasantly tired. He looked around the bar, huffing to get his hair out of his face, before tying it up in a bun and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. It was getting warm now, with all the people and the lack of fresh air inside so he pulled his hoodie over his head and dropped it on the stool behind the counter. 

It had been a good night so far, tips were slowly piling up in his pocket, and from the corner of his eye he saw the person next in line following his movements. He smirked and made a show of throwing a bottle up in the air, catching it with his left hand before pouring the drink for him. 

“Oh my god, stop,” Polina groaned loudly from the side of the counter and covered her face with her palms, shaking her head. “Spare my poor soul.”

“What are you talking about?” Yuri turned to stash the money in the cash register, not even trying to hide his satisfied smile. He knew that Polina was spending the evening there with her friends, but he didn’t notice her coming to stand at the counter next to him.

“Nothing,” she replied, “except I think two girls have just fainted over there.”

Yuri glanced in the direction she nodded her head.

“Maybe they smelled that guy next to them,” he commented, before turning properly around to face her. “And why do you care anyway?”

“You’re making everyone question their sexuality, you’re ruining my chances,” she joked, and Yuri leaned over the counter, fully prepared to make _her_ uncomfortable for a change.

“I thought you only had eyes for Tatiana,” he smiled, referring to one of the other students who worked there part-time. “The one with the tattoos? Don’t think I haven’t noticed those big fucking heart eyes you make at her everytime she’s around.”

“I’m… that’s not the point here,” she dismissed him with confidence, but Yuri didn’t miss the small pink blushes on her cheek. “I want to order.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

“A full glass of details on your date,” she said without missing a beat, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Wasn’t a date,” he corrected her with an annoyed sigh, rolling his eyes. It wasn’t the first time Polina had asked about it, but and Yuri was getting tired of constantly trying to avoid the answer.

“Your friendly encounter with a mysterious stranger you refuse to talk about?”

Yuri ignored her and went to serve the next person, who then slipped his phone number among the bills he paid with. He absent-mindedly put it in his back pocket like he usually did with the polite ones, not wanting to appear rude in front of a paying customer. 

Not to mention that the guy wasn’t exactly painful to look at, even though Yuri had no intention of calling him whatsoever. 

“Come on, take a break!” Polina kept nagging him and Yuri eventually gave in, because he could indeed use a break now. He let Denis know that he would take ten, before grabbing his hoodie and mentally preparing himself for her questions.

He followed her outside and they sat on the bench in front of the building, watching the cars and buses rushing by them, each one followed by a wave of chilly wind, making them shiver. Yuri didn’t mind the cold, it was a nice change after working behind the counter for four hours.

“It really wasn’t a date, you know,” he spoke, staring ahead, and he could feel Polina’s eyes on him. “He’s… an old friend. I ran into him the other day, we sat down for a coffee and everyone went home after, that’s it.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “are you going to meet him again?”

Good question, Yuri thought. He could call him, he had his phone number after all, but he had decided that day that he wasn’t going to do that. The plan was to leave the next step to Otabek. If he reached out to Yuri, he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to him, but what he could do, was stop himself from actively making his own life harder by contacting him first and facing the possibility of a polite refusal or some dumb excuse.

And if they never see each other again, well… at least he got a damn good midterm paper out of it.

“I’m not sure,” he shrugged.

Polina was watching him closely, but he stubbornly kept his expression as unemotional as possible.

“Okay, just… if you want to talk about it, I’m here, you know that, right? We’re friends.” Yuri turned his head to look her in the eyes, forced a smile and replied with the words he knew he was expected to say.

“Of course I know that, but Lina, it’s really not necessary.” He turned to look ahead again, glancing down at his legs as he kicked some dirt up with his shoes, drawing random, unrecognizable figures on the ground. “He’s no one.”

 

Yuri kept his promise to himself, and didn’t contact Otabek. 

Instead, he focused on his paper, writing it in that last-minute frenzy that didn’t leave any room for worrying about the quality. He just needed to finish it, and he found that having no time to dwell on his wording worked for him quite well. On Friday he skipped his classes again and got up early to sit down in front of his laptop with only three hours of sleep, running mostly on coffee-induced autopilot. He didn’t even bother proofreading it anymore, he just hoped he wouldn’t leave too obvious mistakes in it, and he didn’t give a fuck about the typos. He just needed to get it done by noon.

At 11:57, he hit send and fell back in his chair, closing his eyes and rubbing them until he saw stars.

He couldn’t even walk straight anymore, he was so tired, and even though he expected himself to feel better after the essay was done and safely handed in, the weight in his stomach refused to leave. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before he got up and wondered what his problem was. He should have felt relieved, this was one of his most difficult projects for the semester and it was done, he didn’t have to panic about it anymore, he could finally sleep through the night without feeling guilty about it.

But still, that strange weight remained. He blamed the sleep deprivation, combined with a possible overdose on coffee, and decided that an afternoon nap was exactly what he needed. He was already in his pyjamas, since he didn’t have the energy to change before, so he just fell into his bed without even pulling the covers on. 

He was already fast asleep when his phone lit up with a notification only a minute later.

He didn’t notice it until that night. After he woke up, he just rolled out of bed to get his laptop and dragged himself back, watching a show he didn’t really care about, slipping in and out of consciousness every few minutes. This was his idea of celebration, the quiet night he deserved every once in awhile, when he could sleep all day if he wanted to, binge-watching a tv show without having to think about work, school or people in general. 

Polina called him in the evening, just to make sure he’s alive, and that’s when he noticed the unread message. 

_12:07 Otabek: Did you finish your paper?_

He still texted like an old man, grammatically correct and without emojis. Yuri always thought it was in a weird contradiction to the Otabek who drove a motorcycle and liked to DJ in his spare time and used to mock him for it all the time. 

_20:41 me: hell yeah  
20:41 me: and took a long nap right after_

_20:44 Otabek: When will you know your grade?_

_20:45 me: i don’t know and right now i don’t care  
20:45 me: i’m just glad it’s over_

_20:48 Otabek: I can imagine. Have some rest, you deserve it._

_20:48 me: damn right  
20:49 me: thanks man_

_20:57 Otabek: Would you like to grab another coffee next week?_

Yuri almost fell asleep again when he received the last message, and he sat right up, his fingers hovering over the buttons, thinking about his answer. Did he really need this in his life? Wasn’t it complicated enough already?

_21:01 me: okay_

No, it wasn’t, apparently.

The messages didn’t stop coming after that. 

The next day, Otabek sent him a link to a remix and asked for his opinion. Yuri listened to it right away and then listened to it again at the bar when he got there, ignoring Denis’ comments and the faces he made, because Denis was in a bad mood that day and he had horrible taste in music anyway. Yuri loved it, and in response to Otabek’s question he recorded a short video of the laptop’s screen with a group of people visible in the background, one of them bobbing his head to the beat while another one absent-mindedly tapping to it on his glass.

The following day Otabek sent him a link to a Lord of the rings parody video, and Yuri replied with laughing emojis, not having the heart to tell him that he had already seen it a thousand times, and could hold a complete conversation with Polina by only quoting lines from it. 

The next morning it was a simple ‘How are you?’ to which Yuri replied with a picture of Polina sleeping on her notes peacefully in the middle of class, writing _’like this but with better hair’_. Otabek asked about her and Yuri told him that she was a classmate who he failed to scare off with his bad attitude.

One afternoon, when Yuri was at the pub again, Otabek sent him a short video of half a dozen kids jumping around, yelling and talking loudly next to the rink, and he asked if he could come by and have that coffee they agreed on. Yuri almost didn’t answer but he changed his mind later and said yes. 

It went on like this. Otabek kept texting him and Yuri replied. Otabek started conversations, sent funny videos, asked him about his day, and Yuri answered but never messaged him first, still trying to hold himself to his promise that he wouldn’t let himself become too attached, not like last time.

They shared short texts and pictures, sent each other memes, photos of pets and little bits of their days. Yuri noticed that after the video Otabek tried to avoid anything skating and coaching related, and sometimes he felt guilty about it. It was obviously a very important part of Otabek’s life which usually took up his whole day, he loved the kids he was working with, and it must have been hard, not being able to talk about them.

He was sitting in class at 8 in the morning one day when he received a photo of three eggs broken on the floor with a caption. 

_8:13 Otabek: I hope your day is better than mine._

He snorted and tried to pretend it was a cough, before typing his response. 

_8:15 me: depends, is this better?_

He snapped a photo of his notes on Financial Management and sent it to Otabek, who responded with frowny faces.

_8:18 me: emojis?? the fuck_  
_8:19 me: were you abducted by aliens_  
_8:19 me: did they teach you how to properly communicate in this century_

_8:20 Otabek: Maybe? I did have a Star Trek dream last night, what if they saved me and brought me back?_

_8:21 me: uh punctuation remains_  
_8:21 me: baby steps i guess_  
_8:22 me: kirk or picard?_

_8:24 Otabek: Please. Janeway._

_8:25 me: damn straight_  
_8:25 me: she kicks ass_

_8:27 Otabek: She reminds me of you._

_8:29 me: that’s an insult to her_  
_8:30 me: i’m b’elanna torres anyway_

“Yuri,” Polina poked his shoulder with one finger, stealing his attention from his phone and he looked up, realizing he had no idea what the professor had been talking about for the last ten minutes. “You’re smiling.”

Yuri instantly became aware of the stupid smile on his face and replaced it with a frown.

“I am not.”

“Yes you are, and it’s creeping me out,” Polina glanced at the phone in his hands but didn’t try to actually see who he’s talking to, something Yuri appreciated very much at the moment. “Are you talking to that old friend of yours?”

Yuri put his phone down and raised his eyebrow, daring Polina to say anything about it.

“So what if I am?” 

“Hey, stop that,” Polina waved a hand in his general direction, and he assumed she meant the attitude. “You don’t owe me an explanation, I’m not interrogating you. I just wanted to say that I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like this. Geez, sorry.”

She seemed honest and Yuri looked at her for a long moment, studying her expression before speaking again. 

“Yeah, I’m… talking to him again. Haven’t for the last five years, so it’s a bit weird but…,” he shrugged, not knowing how to finish the sentence. He wasn’t about to reveal how exactly their friendship ended, that was a whole other level of trust. “He moved here and we ran into each other, that’s it.”

“Well, whoever he is, I’m glad. It’s really strange to see your face doing the happy thing, but it’s kinda cute, I’d like to see it more often,” she said with a genuine smile.

“I’m not cute,” Yuri frowned and made a face, but then he realized he was pouting, which probably didn’t help his case. He was 25 now for fuck’s sake, why did he still have to be the cute kitten? 

“Okay, you’re not cute,” Polina mocked him with a serious expression and then reached up to ruffle his hair before turning back to look at the presentation again. 

Yuri checked his phone, and saw another message from Otabek, which he quickly opened. So yeah, he was a tad enthusiastic about his best friend being back in his life, but who could blame him? So far it hadn’t been that bad, and he was still confident that he could avoid making the same mistakes again. He totally had this friendship thing down.

 

March turned into April by the time Yuri got his grade for the midterm paper, and for the first time ever, he was the one who called Otabek.

He was so excited he didn’t even care that Polina was right next to him. They were at her apartment, when she got a message from one of her friends, letting them both know that the grades were available if they logged in, and they took turns checking their own. Polina got a 5, which wasn’t a surprise. She was usually slow but thorough, checking every detail twice and taking the time to make sure her research was rock solid. She danced around the room like a child and declared that she deserved a celebratory drink or two. 

Yuri logged into his own account, nervously clutching the edge of Polina’s desk as he clicked through the menu. He had no idea what his grade was going to be, at the time he thought he did well but now he just wasn’t sure. There were a lot of things he would have done differently if he had had more time, but he only realized it after the deadline, so he let it all go and tried not to think about it.

Apart from this having a huge impact on his final grade at the end of the semester, he also didn’t want to disappoint Otabek. He himself didn’t matter, he was used to failing, barely surviving his classes with the lowest grade that allowed him to pass. It wasn’t because he was stupid, or at least that’s what he liked to tell himself. He just didn’t care about his studies that much, and he’d never been able to do anything he didn’t want to. He just couldn’t force himself to study when Macroeconomics made him fall asleep, and every minute he spent leaning over the book seemed like a waste of time. 

His eyes widened when he saw his grade, and he grabbed his phone, dialling Otabek’s number. He picked it up almost immediately, and Yuri saw Polina at the other end of the room, eyeing him with a knowing smile. 

“I got my grade!” he started, interrupting Otabek saying hello at the other end of the line.

“Okay, hold on,” Yuri only had to wait for a few seconds before he heard Otabek talking again. “Alright, tell me.”

“What did you do?” he asked first, curious why he needed to hold.

“Just thought I'd sit down for this. Tell me!”

“I got a 4!” Yuri announced proudly, “84%, this is the best I’ve ever received on a paper.”

Otabek laughed with exhilaration and relief, and Yuri held onto the phone a little tighter, waiting to hear his words.

“That’s amazing, Yura, I’m really proud of you. I knew you could do it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Yuri admitted, thrilled enough to not care about his own pride or the fact that Polina could hear everything.

“That’s not true,” Otabek told him, “you’re smart and you can handle anything. You had this, I just helped with the first steps.”

“Seriously, Beka, thank you.” His voice softened and Yuri felt like he was going to burst from the number of emotions he was currently feeling. Otabek huffed a breath on the other end, and the line became silent between them. “Are you there?”

“Yeah, um,” he cleared his throat and started again, “sorry, it’s just… I was waiting for you to finally stop calling me Otabek.”

Yuri hadn’t even realize that he reverted to using his old nickname, just like he wasn’t completely aware that this was the first time he’d said it. It felt awkward, Otabek pointing it out so openly and he fiddled with a loose thread on his jeans, making it worse in the process.

“I want to thank you properly,” he said suddenly, sitting up straight in the chair, feeling bolder and more confident than usual. “Do you wanna come over this weekend? My pirozhki still beats every restaurant’s in Russia.”

“Oh I missed those,” Otabek replied softly, his smile so clear in Yuri’s mind as if he was sitting right in front of him. “I’m in, I just can’t do it this weekend, is next week okay?”

“Why? Are you going somewhere?”

“Yes, actually. We’re visiting Anton’s parents out of town.”

Yuri was frowning now, frantically searching for the name in his memories, trying to remember if he’d heard Beka say it before, but he came up empty. He had a horrible feeling about where this conversation was going, and he considered not asking just so he could pretend he hadn’t even heard it. 

But it was like a storm in a sunny afternoon, or witnessing an accident. Turning your head only makes it worse, because it’s still happening, you just can’t see it coming.

“Anton?”

“Yeah, he’s…,” Otabek’s voice faltered and he sounded unsure, thinking hard about something. “Wait, have I not…? Huh, it just hasn’t come up, I guess. He’s, well, my boyfriend.”

Yuri forgot to breathe for a second and felt a familiar knife turning in his chest, leaving him ice cold all over his body.

“Yeah, I guess it hasn’t.”

“Yuri, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep it a secret.”

“It’s fine, I, um,” he wasn’t really sure what to do and he lifted his phone from his ear to check the time, but a second later he couldn’t recall any of the numbers he saw, “listen, I gotta go. But, have fun and… yeah.”

“Thanks,” Otabek’s voice was warm and filled with affection, and Yuri closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself. “Congratulations, Yura. You deserved that 4.”

“Yeah, thanks. Bye.”

He hung up and lowered his hand, staring at his phone before remembering that Polina was still in the room. She came over to kneel on the ground next to his chair and tentatively touched his arm. 

“Yuri, is everything okay?”

He let out a long breath, glancing up from his phone, and put his palm over Polina’s. 

“You said something about a drink?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... please don't hate me?  
> Also, everything has a reason to be there, I'm not writing to meet a certain word count or something, so... what i want to say is that Polina is important and i love her so much and i would never use her to fill in blank pages. <3 
> 
> Except Star Trek. Star Trek has absolutely no reason to be in every story i write ever but somehow i always end up there.
> 
> Thank you for reading it, if you noticed any mistakes/typos, please let me know and i will correct it asap. You can also find me on [tumblr](http://kiazareni.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/vulcan_facepalm) if that's what you prefer. Thanks again!


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Otabek looked at him with utter confusion, his honest expression making Yuri stop and think for a moment. They were both quiet, as Beka was searching for the right words, and he seemed completely at loss._
> 
> _“You don’t know” Yuri was stunned by the sudden realization. “Fucking hell, you don’t even…”_
> 
> _He sat down on the couch again, biting his lips while he was thinking, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes on the Kazakh man as he awkwardly stayed by the door, still in his coat._
> 
>   _“Beka” he started carefully, “why did you come here?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 coming up!! First of all, I would like to thank you all for the feedback, I really appreciate it, you guys keep me going. It helps a lot, so thanks!
> 
> Also, I need to give you a warning. This chapter is super heavy angst, it's dealing with Nikolai's death, so I thought some of you might want to know in advance? It was incredibly hard to write, often made me cry, thank god for Yuri's personality because he, too hates when things get overly emotional and drags me back somehow.
> 
> Huge shoutout to Lin-Manuel Miranda, because I was listening to It's quiet uptown to set the mood.
> 
> Oh, that reminds me, I made a [spotify playlist](https://play.spotify.com/user/tatjana.hellosteve/playlist/3HGVYJGR4JfDRnBGAShdGC) because what better way to procrastinate and still subconsciously writing?? Check it out, if you'd like, it's not necessary for the story, it's just a little extra something.
> 
> idk if you guys noticed, but i did the math and there are going to be 8 parts, because there's no way i can fit everything in 6 :')  
> Okay, let's do this! Enjoy!

There was one day in Yuri’s life every year, when he refused to work and missed all of his classes. That day, he stayed in bed all morning, pulling the covers over his head, and while he couldn’t go back to sleep, he lied there motionless, staring into the comforting darkness that surrounded him. He set his phone on silent the previous night and shut the whole world out for a couple of hours, just letting himself disappear into his own mind until he could no longer bare it, holding onto nothing but himself, wishing the whole day would just cease to exist, erased from the calendars forever.

When the noise inside him became unbearable he carefully pulled the blanket back, and put his feet down on the floor. That day, his legs refused to work and he sank down next to his bed, sitting there with his knees pulled up to his chest, listening to the silence around him. 

That day, silence wasn’t his friend, he could feel its weight on his shoulders and his chest but he couldn’t bring himself to break it. Sounds seemed inappropriate on those mornings, the only ones when he didn’t try to stop his thoughts from flowing through his mind, the only ones when he let all of it crush him at once. 

That day, leaving his room was always the most difficult part to get through. Once he was up, he was more or less able to go about his day, sometimes even to talk to someone, but the morning was surreal, like an out of body experience he didn’t have the energy to stop. The world seemed too far away, unreachable and unreal, and Yuri felt too small compared to it. Small, weak and alone and every year on that one day he wished he could be a child again, innocent and unaware of how cruel the world could be. 

And every year, after he stood up from the floor, looked around his room with a blank face, his eyes expressionless and dry, he pulled out a small box from the back of his wardrobe. 

Yuri hated that day. 

He held the old, dark grey flat beret between his fingers as tight as he could, and he never once let go of it as he stepped out of his apartment and took a bus to the cemetery. He bought a small bouquet of flowers at the entrance and went inside without looking around or thinking about the route. His legs carried him to the right place and soon he stopped in front of a simple grey stone, staring at the name carved into it.

“Hey, Grandpa,” he said quietly. He took a deep breath and placed the flowers and the hat on top of the headstone before sitting down next to it with his legs crossed, his fingers brushing through the grass.

For a long time he just sat there with his lips tight, thinking about what he wanted to say. Every year he came here and talked to this piece of marble, and he knew it was a foolish thing to do, he knew that his Grandpa wasn’t listening and it was a pointless ritual that failed to even make him feel better but he needed it. He needed to feel closer to him, at least on that day.

“Three years.” His voice sounded hoarse when he started speaking and he cleared his throat, tilting his head down to look at the ground in front of him instead of the sad, impersonal stone that represented the one person who meant his whole family. “That’s a long time.”

“They said it would become easier,” he whispered and shook his head, closing his eyes to blink away a tear. He couldn’t cry, not yet, he had to hold it together, he had so much to say. “But it just doesn’t. It doesn’t feel easier at all.”

“You’re supposed to take care of me, you know. I’m… I can’t do this alone, I’m still just a stupid kid, I need…,” he stopped, rubbing his eyes furiously, glancing up at the sky to stop the tears from coming. “Look at me, I’m ridiculous. I just miss you so much.”

He sighed, looking at the hat fondly and a small, sad smile formed on his lips.

“You’d probably tell me to get a grip, right? ‘You’re a grown up now, Yurochka, you don’t need a grumpy, old man to tell you what to do!’ Well, guess what, I suck at being a grown up. So… It’d be nice if you got down here and kicked my ass or something.”

He threw a single blade of grass in the direction of the grave but it didn’t even reach it, falling back down slowly at his feet. He picked it up again, tearing it to tiny pieces.

“I’m doing better at school,” he continued and then corrected himself, “well, that’s an overstatement but I don’t always completely hate it anymore, so… progress, yeah? You always wanted me to go to university, so I hope you know that I’m only doing this because of you.” 

He rubbed the edge of the marble with his thumb, making the barely visible spots of dirt and dust disappear. 

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do after I graduate,” he admitted quietly, sniffling but determined to remain strong until he’s done talking. “This is not who I was supposed to become. I’m pathetic, and it’s not gonna get better, everyone told me it would eventually, that I would move on and find another purpose in my life and bullshit like that, and I fucking tried but I hate it. Remember what you told me? You said I should give it a chance because it’s not like I have any other choice. You were the only one who didn’t lie to me and then you went and fucking died and left me alone to deal with it.”

He was quiet again, watching the sunlight painting shadows on one side of the headstone, darkening his grandfather’s first name and the date of his birth while the marble was shining brightly around the engraved ‘Plisetsky’ and the day he died. Yuri thought it was appropriate, because the light made it seem like the Plisetsky name died with his grandfather. It was a family name, and he alone wasn’t a family, certainly not a Plisetsky nowadays, only a poor copy of the person who used to own the name.

He’d been thinking about the ice lately and he wanted to tell Nikolai about it, but he wasn’t sure how. Even then, alone in the cemetery he struggled to get the words out, unsure of what exactly he wanted to say about it. 

He moved on without mentioning it.

“Beka came back,” he went on, ripping out another blade of grass, rubbing it between his fingers. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, but we’re friends again.” He put his elbow on his knee and rested his chin in his palm, staring ahead, distracted by his own thoughts.

“I’m guessing I don’t need to tell you why it’s such a big deal. I never talked about it but you probably knew anyway. Looking back, it was kind of obvious, I don’t understand how he didn’t notice.

His legs fell asleep and he stretched them out, groaning as he felt a thousand pins and needles on his thigh while moving it slowly around to make it less uncomfortable.

“My point is,” he continued, “that you should be here to tell me what to do because that’s always been your job and you can’t just quit, okay? You should have at least left a letter or something with specific instructions, because I feel like I’m going nowhere.”

He drew his eyebrows together, and pointed a finger at the hat that belonged to his Grandpa.

“By the way this is totally confidential and you’re not allowed to tell anyone up there. So… yeah. I guess there’s not much to tell, nothing has changed since I came here last year. A whole year and I’m still exactly in the same place.”

“Um… let’s see, what else. Oh, I’ve started working at this bar, it’s not a bad place, but… kinda cool, you know? They hire students to help them out and I’ve been doing it for a couple of months. It’s probably the only thing right now that makes sense for me. You know what I mean? I can see why I’m doing it, it’s not as pointless as… everything else. I know you didn’t want me to work while I’m in school, but I don’t really have a choice.” 

“Mom hasn’t called, which isn’t a surprise at all, I’m just giving you an update since the last time I was here. I don’t think she actually cares if I’m alive or starving or sick or whatever. Not that I would accept anything from her.”

“I wonder what it’s like up there. Did you, like, forgive everyone and stuff? Did you forgive Mom for leaving me with you?”

He made a face, glancing up at the sky.

“I wish you answered me, but you won’t, I guess.”

He took a deep breath again, and watched the grave for a few more minutes before he stood up, grabbing the hat. He put his palm on its place on the headstone, looking down on it.

“See you next year, Grandpa.”

He walked out of the cemetery without looking back, feeling the weight on his chest that refused to go away. He held onto the hat until he got home and carefully placed it in the box, putting it back in the wardrobe for another year.

He felt a little bit better after that, and he made a coffee before he went to look for his phone, only to find a missed call from Viktor.

Yuri sat down in the kitchen and buried his face in his hands.

Viktor and Yuuri always called him on this day, and they knew Yuri wasn’t going to pick up, but this reminded him that he completely forgot to call and thank them for the birthday gift. 

God, he really was an asshole, he had received it a month ago and he hadn’t said anything. They probably thought Yuri threw it out or just simply didn’t give a fuck about it. He found it strange that they’d called him at all, he didn’t feel like he deserved it. 

Yuri pushed the button and held the phone to his ear, waiting with his heart beating in his throat. 

He was surprised when he heard Yuuri’s voice, answering Viktor’s phone. Maybe it was a married thing, maybe it was because he saw that it was just Yuri, it was still weird and unfamiliar, since he mostly talked to Viktor.

“Oh, hey Yurio,” he picked up quickly and greeted him with a careful tone. Yuri hated when they used that tone with him but he didn’t say anything about it, nor the nickname, which still bugged the hell out of him. After all, he was the one who was about to apologize for being the most ungrateful person on planet Earth. “Viktor is on the ice now, do you want me to get him for you?”

“No, it’s fine,” he replied. Of course, he was probably busy coaching some lame kid right now. “Okay, well, I can call him ba…”

“Wait,” Yuuri interrupted him before he could finish the sentence, “Um… how are you?” 

Oh, so they were doing this. Yuri swallowed, not sure how to answer the question. He was more or less used to Viktor and talking to him every year on this day, but not Yuuri. He was always there, silently listening in and supporting him but they hadn’t really talked to each other without Viktor being there, channeling between them. 

“I’m fine,” he shrugged, “it’s not… i’ve had worse.”

That was a lie. It’d been equally bad every year, and he wasn’t even close to being better. 

“That’s good, I’m really glad to hear that. I wish we could be there with you, though, Viktor was really worried. He’ll be happy to hear that you called.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t have my phone with me.”

“No, it’s alright, we understand.” Yuuri’s kind and honest answer only made him feel worse. 

He thought about how to bring up the plane ticket. He didn’t want to sound like he didn’t care about it, but he was never really good with words, never really knew how to talk about feelings and how to own up to his mistakes. 

He wished he could be fifteen again, when it didn’t matter to him. He said what he wanted to say without paying attention to the people around him, and it was so much easier, because deep down he knew they would be there anyway, that’s why he always felt comfortable with just throwing insults and masking everything underneath. It was different now. Yuuri and Viktor were the only ones left from his old life, the ones who had never given up on him, and he had to admit to himself that he was afraid he would lose them too. The old Yuri never would have done that, but then again, the old Yuri had his rink mates, his fans, and most importantly, his grandfather too. 

The old Yuri would probably slap him and laugh in his face right now, seeing how dependant he had become on the few people he had left.

“I got your gift,” he blurted out, “It arrived later but I got it and… thanks.”

“Oh,” that was all the pork cutlet bowl said to him. Oh. Yuri wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but he did hear a hint of surprise and something that sounded like disappointment in his voice.

“Yeah,” he said, feeling dumb now. “Is it… I mean can I still go?”

“Of course you can!” Yuuri reassured him, smiling through the words. “Viktor and I were planning to visit you, you know, but we thought that you might like to come here instead. It would be a nice change for you, and we would love to have you here.” 

Everything he said was too nice, too inviting, too forgiving for Yuri. He didn’t deserve this.

Sometimes he felt like he was just waiting for them to turn their backs on him too. They were basically the last two friends he got left, and he never really appreciated them when he was young but right now he needed them more than ever. 

“Yeah I’ll go, right after my exams are over at the end of June. Thanks again,” he replied. He didn’t have anything else to say, so he awkwardly stopped talking and they were both silent for a few second before Yuuri spoke again.

“Yurio… do you, um. Do you have anyone you can call? To be there with you.”

“I… what?” he asked, frowning. “I’m okay. I don’t need anyone.”

“Yeah I know that,” Yuuri didn’t sound convinced, but he rushed to answer, like he was afraid he would anger Yuri somehow, and screw up this otherwise _not that bad_ conversation. “I just, I really don’t want you to be alone right now. I know you’re gonna be okay, but still. Um… I guess it’s not my place to decide that for you, but you shouldn’t go through this day all by yourself.”

Well, joke’s on you, pig, Yuri thought with his lips pressed together. He had to go through everything alone in the past couple of years so he had had a lot of practice. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said, “I’ll be fine.”

They hung up a few minutes later, awkwardly saying goodbye to each other, Yuri promising again that he’d go and visit them in the summer, Yuuri telling him how Viktor will be over the moon to hear that and that was it. Yuri sat there for a long time after that, with his phone in his hands, trying to decide what to do. 

The one thing he really missed about skating was that he didn’t have to communicate with words. He could step on the ice and let his body do the talking, and he could channel his emotions through the movements of his arms or a well-placed Ina Bauer, leaving it to those who were watching to figure out what he was trying to say. He never really knew any other way to be honest about his feelings, and without the ice he felt lost, struggling like a child trying to learn how to speak for the first time. 

He will never get the chance to choreograph a tribute to his grandfather. He had one in his head, he could see it so clearly, see every step and technical element and where to put them to fit the music. It could have been beautiful, and it probably would have made dealing with the grief much easier.

But the ice wasn’t there anymore to speak for him, he had to do it himself, with real words and real risks. 

Skating was safe. If someone saw into his soul through the ice, he could still choose to protect himself and say they misinterpreted the program, or figure out some other story behind the choreography he could sell to the media. Words didn’t work like that, there was no going back, he couldn’t protect himself from anything once he started speaking. 

He bit his lips and stared at the name on his screen. Ultimately, he knew he was just going to make things worse for himself, but he dialled anyway.

“Hey, Yura,” Beka’s warm voice filled the silence and Yuri clenched his fist, digging his nails into the skin on his palm until it hurt. 

“Hey, listen,” he started. His voice wasn’t warm at all, it was weak and trembling, the weight of that day beginning to wear him down and leave its mark on him. “Are you free right now?”

“Uh, yeah, wait… what? No, sorry, I’m talking to Yuri, just a second.” Yuri vaguely heard someone in the background and his stomach dropped, knowing exactly who it was. 

“It’s not that important,” he cut in quickly, not wanting to listen to Beka’s excuses, “if you’re busy, I’m… you don’t have to.”

“Are you sure?” Otabek was clearly distracted, and Yuri let out a long breath, feeling the corners of his eyes beginning to fill with tears. He only hoped he could hold it together until they hang up. Then he can go and hide under the covers in his bed, letting himself fall apart safely, away from the rest of the world.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Forget it.” _’God, would you just hang up already?’_ Yuri pressed his palm to his forehead, closing his eyes. 

“Well, okay then. Good night,” Beka didn't sound convinced but he said goodbye anyway and waited for Yuri to hang up, who pushed the button immediately without saying anything. He could feel himself crying now, every single tear he hadn’t shed that day breaking free and running down on his face, leaving cold, wet streaks on his chin and neck, and Yuri pressed his forehead against his palm with more force, his fingers shaking, his other hand clutching the phone tightly.

He cried for his grandfather, because it’d been three years and he just wanted to hear his voice one more time, calling him ‘Yurochka’, he just wanted to hug him once to say goodbye properly, to bury his head in his grandpa’s shoulder and feel that itchy, wool sweater under his fingers again. Maybe his grandpa would tell one of his terrible jokes again and this time he would laugh, not just roll his eyes in embarrassment, and maybe this time, he would be strong enough to say all the things he wanted to say to him before he passed, like ‘thank you’.

Thank you for taking care of me, thank you for being my father, my mother, my grandfather and my friend, thank you for never giving up on me and always believing in me, thank you for supporting me and _thank you for never once letting me see you suffer_. 

Thank you for being so strong for me.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden ringing of his phone, the loud noise dragging him back to the present against his will, and he took one quick glance at the screen before picking up.

“What?” he bit out, trying to hide his sniffling. 

“Are you at home?” Otabek didn’t even say hi and he sounded a little out of breath. Yuri was trying to dry his tears up so he could answer without making it obvious that he’d been crying, and he might have been quiet for too long, because Beka spoke again. “Yura? Are you there? Tell me where you are.”

“I’m home,” that was all he managed to say. He probably failed to hide the state he was in, his voice was too small and weak and even the dumbest person would have picked up on it. Otabek wasn’t stupid, and he knew Yuri, knew him better than anyone.

“I’m on my way.”

Yuri’s voice quivered as he replied with a quiet ‘Okay’ before finishing the call, and he stood up to go wash his face. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, especially Otabek. 

The ice cold water made his skin numb and the tears vanished, but it didn’t help the redness of his eyes and the dark circles under them. He looked at his own image in the mirror, and didn’t even recognize the person standing in front of him. He was thin and pale, his skin lusterless, making his hollow eyes stand out even more. He looked… lifeless, like a ghost of himself, smaller, lesser in every way, and the lack of colours and emotions in his dull eyes made him look like an empty shell of something that used to be a person.

He went to sit on couch, staring blankly ahead, waiting for Otabek. His brain vaguely processed that Beka changed his mind and was on his way to Yuri. Maybe he hadn’t realized first what day it was, or he wasn’t sure he could make it, Yuri didn’t care. Katsudon was right, he didn’t want to be alone, but he also didn’t want to be with just anybody. He needed Otabek by his side, his calm presence, his soothing words, he needed the feeling of _safe_ and _home_ only Beka could make him feel anymore. 

Minutes slowly passed and exhaustion almost won over him when he finally heard the quiet knocks on the door and he got up to open it. 

“Hey,” Beka’s soft, worried voice made him feel even worse, the thought of him seeing right through Yuri, how vulnerable and broken he felt making him ashamed at his own weakness, and he couldn’t even look at him. He turned around without a word, making his way back to couch. He heard Beka close the door and a second later warm fingers caught his wrist, tugging to get him to turn around and look at him. 

Yuri didn’t have the energy to object, so he let out one last, loud sniffle and turned back, lifting his head, stubbornly keeping his eyes on Otabek. _You wanna see me, here I am. See me._

Beka was watching him closely, taking in the sight of his messy hair, puffy, red eyes and his pale light skin. He didn’t ask him anything, but his eyes were examining Yuri like he was trying to find the answer written on his face, and then, with one quick step he closed his arms around Yuri, hugging him tightly. He brought one hand up and brushed his fingers through his hair, while he held Yuri by his waist with the other, and Yuri gripped Beka’s coat, sinking his fingers in it, hiding his face in his shoulder.

Beka’s thumb was moving up and down slowly by the nape of his neck, while he whispered soothing words into his hair, reassuring him that everything was going to be okay, Yuri can let go, he was right there with him. Yuri eased into the embrace, burying his nose in the curve of his neck, when he heard him say something that broke the moment, and he frowned as he pushed him away a little so he can look at him.

“Yuri, tell me what’s wrong.”

He took another step back, ignoring how cold the air felt on his skin and how much he longed for Beka’s arms around him. 

“What the fuck do you _think_ is wrong? How can you even ask me that?” Yuri snapped, and drew a breath to say something else but the words didn’t come and he stood there, speechless at the insensitiveness of the question. 

Otabek looked at him with utter confusion, his honest expression making Yuri stop and think for a moment. They were both quiet, as Beka was searching for the right words, and he seemed completely at loss. 

“You don’t know,” Yuri was stunned by the sudden realization. “Fucking hell, you don’t even…”

He sat down on the couch again, biting his lips while he was thinking, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes on the Kazakh man as he awkwardly stayed by the door, still in his coat.

“Beka,” he started carefully, “why did you come here?” 

“I… you sounded so... I don’t know,” Beka replied, while he took off his coat and put it on the hanger. He stepped closer to where Yuri was sitting but stopped, hesitantly shifting from one leg to another. “I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong.”

Yuri was too tired to care about how to politely express himself, so he tilted his head to look at Otabek, his expression incredulous. 

“You ditched your boyfriend because what? I sounded sad? And you don’t even know why? Why would you do that?”

He watched Otabek’s reaction closely, who seemed appalled by his questions. He shook his head, looking down with what could only be described as disappointment and sadness. 

“Of course I did,” he answered quietly but firmly, without a touch of hesitation in his voice. He closed the distance between them, kneeling down in front of him, and he looked up at Yuri, searching for his eyes. “Yura, look at me.”

Otabek put his hand on his knee, and didn’t start talking until Yuri held his eyes, as if he wanted to be absolutely sure that his words would reach him. 

“You were upset,” he said in a low voice, never once breaking eye contact, “so yes, I dropped everything and came here to make sure you’re alright. I didn’t need to know why. You’re my friend, and I care about you.”

Yuri tried his best to believe him. 

“So Anton is just okay with this?”

“He has to be. He’s not the only important person in my life.”

A small smile formed on Yuri’s lips that hadn’t quite reached his eyes, but it was progress and he felt a little bit better than an hour ago. They were both quiet as Otabek got up, using Yuri’s knee to support his weight, and he made his way into the kitchen. It was his first time in Yuri’s apartment, but he moved around with confidence, opening doors to check where he could find everything he needed.

“You still remember how I drink my tea,” Yuri commented as he watched Beka put two little spoons of sugar in the cup and nothing else. 

“Yes, and I still don’t understand your taste.”

Beka handed him the tea and then disappeared in the back of the apartment, only to return a minute later. He took a seat next to Yuri on the couch and gently pushed his shoulders so he would turn around.

“What are you doing?” Yuri was confused, to say the least, spotting his hairbrush in Otabek’s hand, but he complied anyway, making himself comfortable with his back turned to Beka, peeking over his shoulder.

“I’m not exactly sure, but bear with me, yeah?” 

Otabek untied his hair and pulled the loose strands over his shoulders, letting them fall on his back. He combed the blonde locks carefully with his fingers first, running his fingertips through Yuri’s hair at the nape of his neck and above his ears, and Yuri closed his eyes, melting into his touch. 

“Wow, it’s grown so much,” Otabek gently pushed his thumb against his spine in the middle of his back, marking how long his hair was. “Another year maybe and it will reach your waist.”

He went over the locks once again, sliding his fingers through them to feel if there were any small knots that needed to be undone. He then picked up the brush and began untangling them one by one, gingerly holding each strand he was working on, careful not to hurt him. Yuri couldn’t see his face, but he had a clear picture of him in his mind, as he focused all his attention on his hair, with his eyebrows drawn together, creating soft lines on his forehead, biting his lips in concentration.

He tried not to think about how much he wanted to fall back against Beka’s chest and just relax, letting the other man pet him while he rests his head on his shoulder. The comforting hug, Beka’s arms around him, his brown skin against Yuri’s pale one, the warm hand on his waist holding him up was almost too much, but still left him longing for more, and he had to remind himself not to step over that line. He wasn’t ready to ruin their newfound friendship, not to mention that Otabek was in a relationship, and Yuri would never do anything to jeopardize that. He just had to live with the fact that once again, Otabek wasn’t his, but maybe this time he could take the friendship Beka offered him.

Beka’s fingers were at the nape of his neck again, brushing his hair one more time, smoothing down any loose strands and caressing the skin under them, before he picked up the hairband to tie it back up. Yuri broke the silence around them, wanting to get the words out before he had to turn around and face him.

“My grandfather died three years ago on this day.”

Beka’s fingers stilled at that, and he was quiet for a few seconds before putting his hand on Yuri’s shoulder, lightly squeezing it.

“I’m so sorry, Yura.”

“I assumed you knew.” There was a question mark in that sentence, and Yuri shifted so he could look at Otabek, who averted his eyes and pulled his hand back, glancing down at the old, stained fabric of the sofa.

Even if they weren’t friends anymore at that time, word still got around about what was going on with Yuri. It was only a year after his retirement, the media was still interested in him, and most of the skaters regularly asked Viktor about his well-being, all of them worried and hoping that he would be able to return somehow after all. It was weird that the idea hadn’t even crossed Otabek’s mind, even if he didn’t know the exact date.

“I… I haven’t even heard about it until last year.”

“I don’t understand.”

Beka raised his head and looked at him with an expression so vulnerable, and open, that Yuri forgot how to breathe for a second.

“Yuri, I... I lost my best friend five years ago. He disappeared from my life and to this day I have no idea why.”

It wasn’t an accusation, his voice lacked any anger or ill feeling towards him, and Yuri waited patiently for him to finish. He was certain that they were going to have to have this talk sooner or later, but he also knew that Otabek would never put him through that conversation on this day, not after learning why it was special. Right now, bringing up the past events only served as an explanation, so he let him speak, even though his heart was pounding loudly in his chest because whatever Beka was going to say, it was his fault, Yuri’s actions caused it, his decisions led them both here.

“I’m not gonna lie to you. It hurt a lot, and after a while I just tried to stay as far away from you as possible. I avoided the news, your fans, your friends, everyone who could have told me. And my friends knew better than to even say your name around me, so… I only heard about it sort of accidentally from Yakov.” 

Yuri was quiet as he sat back against the armrest of the couch, processing what he had heard, and he only glanced up when he felt Beka’s hand in his, his thumb drawing semicircles on his skin.

“You don’t have to think about this now. It can wait, I can wait.” Yuri nodded, more as a ‘thank you’ than as an acknowledgement of his words. He was still distant, he only understood half of what Beka said, knowing that it was probably going to hit him tomorrow, or a few days later. “Tell me about your grandpa.”

Yuri took a sharp breath, knowing exactly what he wanted to say. 

“Do you know why I had to stop skating?”

Beka seemed confused, unsure what this had to do with Nikolai but he replied anyway, pulling his hand back again. Yuri felt the loss of the warm fingers around his own, and he clenched his fist, willing himself not to think about it too hard.

“I know you took a bad fall at Skate America.”

“That’s… yeah, that’s kind of the end of the story.” Yuri looked down. People knew bits and pieces, mostly from what they had read in the media, and there were those who knew a little bit more than that, like Viktor, Yuuri and Seung-gil but no one had the whole picture, the real reason behind his injury.

“I took another fall way back at Nationals, like… a year before that. I fractured my hip and the doctor told me I should take it easy, skip the rest of the season so it could heal properly.”

Beka was a good listener, exactly like Yuri remembered him to be. He didn’t even move as he sat there, every fiber of his being focused on him, never once taking his eyes off of Yuri, but also putting some distance between them, letting him breathe, letting him take his time.

“But I already knew Grandpa was sick, and I, um… I lied to everyone, I said I was fine and went back earlier than that so I could go to Worlds. I could feel that it wasn’t working perfectly but I took some painkillers and I didn’t care, because… well, I thought I was going to need the money to, you know, get the best medical stuff in the country, or even take him somewhere else where they can cure him.”

His voice got quiet by the end, and he had to stop for a few seconds, collecting himself as long-repressed memories started reappearing. Waves of fear and anger were washing over him as he relived those nights again, tossing and turning in his bed, frantically googling alternative methods just in case the chemo wouldn’t work, calling private facilities all over the country and across the borders, desperate for a hopeful reply, anything other than an ‘Unfortunately we’re at full capacity’ or ‘I’m sorry, we can’t, but let me give you another number…’. 

Beka was listening with so much patience and understanding that it was almost too much to bear, and Yuri had to stand up, make himself busy with something so he wouldn’t fall apart in front of him. He picked up his empty cup and walked to the kitchen to put it in the sink, and it was a little bit easier to continue talking after that, the simple task helping him hold on to the here and now.

“Yakov was the first to find out, during the off-season after that. I mean, about the cancer. He didn’t know that I went against the doctor’s recommendation but I wasn’t in any pain anymore, so I didn’t even think about it. And then, I... ,“ He sighed and stopped talking again, looking anywhere but at the man in front of him. 

He didn’t want to see the acceptance in Otabek’s eyes, he didn’t deserve it, he was the one who fucked up his life and went against the doctor’s orders, if anything, Beka should have been mad at him for screwing up his career like that. 

“And then,” he started again, taking a deep breath, “I was packing for Skate America when I found them. The, um… papers. Medical files and stuff. Grandpa said he waited to tell me because he didn’t want me give up hope. I didn’t really understand what the papers said, but I got the point. There was no surgery, no chemo, nothing that could have saved him. I was so fucking angry, I yelled at him, threw the door in his face, I was horrible, Beka, I… I couldn’t… I was _so scared_.”

He pulled up his knees to his chest, hugging himself on the couch, and Beka listened, not saying a single word, but he was watching him intently, and Yuri felt his dark chocolate-brown eyes seeing right through him, burning a hole in his soul. 

“So yeah, I couldn’t focus on the competition at all, I didn’t pay attention on the ice, I… I don’t even know what happened. I fell hard on the quad lutz and that was it. I practically shattered my hip.”

He wished Beka would hug him again, but neither of them moved closer, keeping the distance between them as they sat on each side of the sofa, both of them turning to face the other but Yuri’s eyes avoiding Otabek’s, afraid of what he might see in them.

When he spoke, his voice was unwavering and confident, filled with kindness and Yuri had to try and grip the fabric under his hands tightly so he could stop the tears from coming again.

“It’s not your fault, you know that, right?”

Yuri scoffed, staring ahead, blinking rapidly.

“Yeah, right. It was me on the ice, who else would you blame?”

“No, I don’t mean that. Your grandpa. There was nothing you could do.” 

Yuri didn’t answer but sniffled a bit, snuggling further into the corner of the sofa and Otabek stood up.

“I’m gonna get you a blanket.” Yuri let him, and when Beka returned, he draped it over his shoulders, tucking him in carefully. “Hey, lie down.” Soft fingers pulled the comforter up until his neck, lingering there, his thumb touching his chin lightly, before settling on the top of his head, brushing his hair.

“Thanks,” Yuri mumbled into the blanket, and Otabek huffed fondly, fiddling with it to smooth it down everywhere, making sure he was comfortable. “Stop it. You’re acting like a dad, it’s _so_ weird.”

“Sorry,” Beka laughed quietly and sat down on the ground in front of the couch. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I am.” Yuri peeked out from under the cover. “I haven’t really told anyone this before so… um. Thanks for coming over and, you know, not hating me and… yeah.”

“Anytime.”

They were both quiet after that, and Yuri fell into restless naps every few minutes, but when he opened his eyes, Otabek was still there, sitting next to him on the ground. He saw him calmly typing away on his phone, bringing himself a tea, switching through muted tv channels, and he always sat down to the same spot, on the floor, right next to him. The last time he woke up before the morning, Otabek had his back against the sofa, and he was sleeping soundly. Yuri smiled to himself and fell asleep again, dreamless and dark but peaceful, more peaceful than he ever felt in the last three years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. That's it. I'm very, very excited to see your reactions to it, also, if I promised you something with Polina, I know, I'm sorry, I didn't forget, but it's gonna be in the next part, it just didn't have a place here.
> 
> A lot of things were going on in this chapter but Yuri was kind of in a haze and didn't really deal with them, but ooooh, maybe in the next one.


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"He had been thinking about it before, noticed the way Otabek would sometimes trail off while talking, getting uncomfortably quiet as he tried to avoid mentioning the trainings. How he always said he was ‘working’ and never used another word for it, and how their friendship felt slightly off-balance to Yuri, him being the center of attention most of the time, with Otabek supporting him through everything and not receiving anything in return._  
>   
> 
> _He felt selfish at first, but that wasn’t enough motivation for him to do something about it."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 coming up! I'm really sorry about the delay, blame me and the figure skating world championship, and every skater who almost caused me to get a heart attack (not to name names, but Denis, what the hell)
> 
> anyways, i really hope you're gonna enjoy this, i made a few small changes, which means that the majority of what i wanted in this chapter goes in the next one, it makes much more sense and makes the whole thing burn even slower... also, Polina and Yuri are going to have a talk, and i keep pushing it to the next chapter and the next and the next, but i s2g i found the perfect place for it now and it WILL happen in chapter 5. I cannot delay it any longer! i keep promising a really sweet scene with Polina and i just wanted to tell you all that the one in this is not the one i meant. :)
> 
> Okay, let's do this!
> 
> Have fun, and if you have anything to say about the story, the plot, my grammar or just want to scream various insults at me because you hate me, please do so in the comments, your feedback means a lot! Thanks!

“He did _what_?”

Yuri dropped his backpack on the stool and ignored the loud thud it made when it turned over and fell on the ground. He had just arrived to the pub for his weekend shift, after he got a phone call, asking him to start a few hours earlier that day. It was only 2 in the afternoon, the bar was still empty, with an exception of one guy in the back who leaned over a laptop next to his beer and from the looks of it, was probably planning his death. It was the beginning of May, the time of deadlines, finishing assignments and preparing for exams, and he looked like he was doing everything at once, so Tatiana made an attempt to lower her voice and she even turned down the music. She let out a long breath and smiled at Yuri with sympathy, because she too, was aware what the news they had just received meant to them both.

“Yeah, I’ve just been told.”

“He fucking quit,” Yuri repeated because he needed to hear it again, just to be sure he had heard it right. 

“I think he said something about taking a step forward? Maybe a better job?” Tatiana shrugged and she picked up a rag to clean the counter, while humming some song Yuri didn’t recognize. He was still standing there, perplexed, unable to go about his day like nothing happened, but of course he wasn’t Tatiana, who was probably the calmest person on the planet. It was like nothing ever shook her at all.

“What better job? He is fucking useless. Wasn’t this shithole good enough for him?”

Tatiana threw him a glance, frowning but Yuri ignored him, picking up his bag and looking for his phone. He’d heard it buzzing earlier with a notification and since he expected Otabek at the pub that day, he assumed it was going to be him. 

“This place isn’t a shithole.”

“It is according to Denis,” Yuri argued. He was elbow-deep in his backpack, blindly tapping around for the phone in the midst of all the notebooks, pens, pencils and the trash he always forgot to throw out. “So what, we’re just gonna suck it up and work twice as hard until they hire someone else?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“Awesome,” his fingers finally closed around his cellphone and he pulled it out of the bag, turning away from Tatiana, since he considered the matter closed. Denis quit and they were going to suffer, what else was there to talk about? Now they had to cover every shift until they replace him, which would have been bad enough without having to prepare for the end of the semester as well. 

God, he should have known this day would suck. He took comfort in the thought that at least Otabek was going to be there soon to keep him company. He promised Yuri he would meet him at the bar early, so they can spend some time together before the shift gets busier and the pub is flooded with people.

Otabek seemed to always be around these days, and he slowly became a constant part of his life which Yuri sometimes still found rather strange. He clutched the phone tightly in his hand, thinking about how they ended up at exactly the same place again, being best friends, Otabek supporting him, and Yuri getting increasingly more conflicted about his own feelings. 

When they first met, Yuri thought the promises of future meetings were just polite phrases with no real intention behind them, and he was prepared to let go of him anytime. He was sure this was only a chance to properly say goodbye, a way to heal the wound and move forward, so they can both accept that their friendship had ended five years ago and there was no repairing what Yuri had broken.

But then Otabek kept coming back and he was forced to realize that the Kazakh man had a somewhat different idea about their abrupt reunion. Their friendship slowly started growing again when they met up for a coffee, all the way to the point of basically skyrocketing after the evening he spent at Yuri’s apartment, helping him get through the anniversary of his grandfather’s death. Up until that night, Yuri had a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that Otabek was truly back in his life and intended to stay there. Sometimes he even expected him to disappear suddenly, as a less rational part of him feared that all this was only payback for what Yuri did to him, but Beka was still there and he had proved him wrong again and again, until Yuri started believing him. 

Now they were almost back to their old routine, sharing messages every day, sending random pictures that described their days, and Beka had been nothing but nice to him, never once making him feel guilty about what happened, not even mentioning it with the exception of that one conversation they had on Yuri’s couch a few weeks ago.

And Yuri felt useless, unable to give back.

He glanced at the phone, only to find that it was Polina who texted him. She was supposed to be studying for a test they had on Monday, a test Yuri was in no way prepared for. He unintentionally made a face when he remembered that he had a shift the next day too, making it impossible to at least read through his notes once over the weekend. If he wanted to sleep, that is. He had already had enough on his plate, since he was going to show up for the test after working until 3 am on Sunday. He sighed and checked the message Polina sent him, forcing himself to stop worrying about his crazy schedule. There was nothing he could do about it anyway.

_13.52 lina: come over_

_14.03 me: can’t i’m working_

_14.03 lina: my parents aren’t home_

Yuri rolled his eyes but he couldn’t stop the quiet laugh that escaped his lips as he quickly typed in a response.

_14.04 me: lina you live alone_  
_14.04 me: also we’re both gay_  
_14.04 me: what are we going to do, play board games?_

_14.05 lina: idk we can braid each other’s hair_

Yuri held up his phone and snapped a picture of the messy fishtail side braid he quickly made that morning, sending it to her.

_14.07 me: mine’s already done, sorry_

He realized his mistake as soon as he hit send, and he brought his free hand to his face, keeping it there to check her reply through the thin space between his fingers. There was no way Polina hadn’t noticed, but Yuri still silently wished for a miracle while he was waiting for the inevitable. 

_14.08 lina: omg is that tatiana behind you?_  
_14.08 lina: forget everything, i’m suddenly in dire need of a drink_  
_14.09 lina: i’m on my way_

And there it was. Yuri let out an exasperated breath, more annoyed with himself than with Polina as he frantically searched for an acceptable reason to stop her but he came up with nothing. Polina was on her way, and she was most likely going to meet Otabek. 

It was an introduction Yuri had been trying to avoid since the very beginning.

Polina asked about Beka a lot, curious of who Yuri’s _mysterious other friend_ was, as she called him, always bringing it up in the most unexpected situations to catch him off-guard and get him to share some details. Yuri hadn’t said anything more to her than the story he himself wanted to believe. That he was an old friend, they ran into each other, drank a coffee for old times’ sake and sometimes they talk. 

It was the most simplified version he could come up with, stripped of any personal details that might indicate exactly how close they were and what happened to them, and he was careful not to give her a name or anything she could google to find out herself.

She arrived an hour later in a whirlwind of cheerful energy, scaring the death out of Yuri who was busy cleaning the table next to the door in a mood that got worse by the minute. He threw her a glance and raised an eyebrow when she completely ignored Tatiana and sat in the chair on his left, turning her back to the counter.

“What’s up?” she asked, her voice only a tiny bit louder and higher than usual.

Yuri cocked his head to the side and gave her a look that said ‘I know what you’re doing, it’s embarrassing, stop before I leave you here to deal with your crush alone’. 

Despite the confidence Polina was practically glowing with on any usual day, she was surprisingly lame when it came to flirting. Yuri had plenty of occasions to watch as she followed the ‘stare and daydream’ tactic, sometimes mixed with a little ‘be as interesting as you can and make her notice you’. The latter was mostly unintentional, and the results were debatable at best.

“Would you like to drink something?” Yuri offered the question, deciding to take a more passive-aggressive way to play match-maker. There was a tiny chance he could distract her enough so she wouldn’t even notice Otabek.

“Why, yes I would, thank you,” she nodded with a satisfied expression on her face.

“Awesome. As of this moment, I’m on my break, so Tatiana over there will gladly help you.” Yuri delivered the punchline with a sweet smile, dropped the rag he was holding on the table and sat down, pulling out his phone from his pocket. He casually rested his legs on the other chair and hadn’t even glanced at Polina as he tried to look as absorbed in his phone as possible.

“You’re going to hell for this.” He smirked when he heard her reply, but kept his eyes on the screen. Polina huffed out a breath and smoothed her skirt down, nervously fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket for a moment before standing up and walking over to the counter.

Yuri listened to her stumble over the first few words but quickly turned his attention back to his phone and bit his lips, thinking about a more pressing matter that’d been on his mind for a while. His fingers hovered over the buttons, contemplating if he was really ready to do this. It was a simple matter, and he felt ridiculous that it caused him such a big problem, but he couldn’t help it. 

He wanted Otabek to talk about skating. 

Well, not really.

He wanted him to talk about his day. He wanted to be a good friend and be able to listen to him rant about the annoying kids at the rink, or let him be openly proud of the talented ones. He wanted Beka to call him or text him when he was away for a competition and one of his skaters earned a medal, and he wanted to be there for him when one of them got seriously injured and help him get over the inevitable guilt every coach felt clawing at him, especially when they were young and inexperienced like Otabek. 

He remembered the first time he realized just how much of Beka’s life he was missing out on. 

He had been thinking about it before, noticed the way Otabek would sometimes trail off while talking, getting uncomfortably quiet as he tried to avoid mentioning the trainings. How he always said he was ‘working’ and never used another word for it, and how their friendship felt slightly off-balance to Yuri, him being the center of attention most of the time, with Otabek supporting him through everything and not receiving anything in return. 

He felt selfish at first, but that wasn’t enough motivation for him to do something about it.

The reality of the situation only hit him when one day he glanced at the calendar on his phone and realized that the figure skating season had ended, and he was genuinely curious how Otabek’s skaters performed. During those last two months, the junior and senior world championships had happened along with the World Team Trophy, and he had absolutely no idea if he should congratulate him or even say anything. Beka had never even mentioned leaving for a competition, so Yuri was completely at loss, and he found that his interest in his friend’s career was now stronger than the bitterness he felt about it.

He had planned to send a simple message, asking about his day, how the practice is going, because it seemed easier than asking face-to-face for the first time, but writing it down felt even stranger. Like ‘I know how weird this is, that’s why I’m texting’ awkward. Yuri always hated taking the easy way out, especially when it was obvious that he was doing just that.

He jerked his head up to the sound of glass clicking against the wooden table and hid his phone back in his pocket.

“I did it,” Polina whispered, excited and happy, with stars in her eyes and a dreamy expression on her face. “I asked for a beer and she smiled at me.”

Yuri didn’t point out the fact that they were kind of required to do that, and he snorted, unimpressed.

“You didn’t even get her number?” He got a punch in his arm for that question.

“Baby steps, asshole.”

“Whatever,” he replied, “don’t you have an exam to prep for?”

Polina’s pained expression was all the answer he needed, as she pulled out her notes from her bag, dropping them on the table. 

“I’m gonna sit in the back and study there,” she pointed at a table opposite from the counter, and this time when she sat down, she chose the seat with the best view to Tatiana. Yuri would have been willing to bet his entire inheritance that no studying was going to take place that day.

He reluctantly turned back to the counter and returned to work, checking the time every few minutes, waiting for Otabek to arrive. Polina didn’t look like she was planning to leave anytime soon, she seemed preoccupied with her notes, occasionally glancing up at Tatiana. 

Maybe he should have given her more credit, because she looked like she was actually studying, reading through her notes and adding more to them, with the book open in front of her. Yuri thought he would probably just gaze into space with a blank expression if it were him, unable to focus on anything but the person he liked. 

When Otabek walked in later that afternoon, Yuri almost dropped the glass he was holding. For a minute, he even forgot about Polina’s presence and just stared at his friend, who casually pulled up his usual seat opposite from him, and put his black helmet on the counter next to them. 

Apparently, the russian spring was now warm enough for Beka to bring out the motorbike Yuri had been secretly wished to see for quite some time now. He also decided to ditch the duffle coat he had been wearing, and was sporting a more familiar piece, similar to the one that Yuri remembered very well, and suddenly it was _him_ , his best friend, the same one he left behind years ago. 

The black leather was tight on the broad shoulders, with the short snap collar hugging his neck loosely, touching the warm brown skin underneath. Beka unzipped the jacket, revealing the dark grey t-shirt he was wearing and Yuri had to look away before he did something embarrassing, like lean closer to smell the leather or reach out to run his fingers down Beka’s arms.

“Hey,” he brought his hand up and brushed through his hair, making the longer strands stick up, and he looked around, his eyes momentarily settling on Tatiana before blinking up at Yuri. “Where is Denis?”

Yuri raised his eyebrow and turned to the guy on Beka’s right, handing him the beer and taking the money. 

“Why, you miss him? I could have told you on the phone that he’s not here, then, to save you the trouble.” 

Beka was watching him with an amused smile, taking off his fingerless gloves and resting his arms on the counter. He leaned forward a little and tilted his head so he could see Yuri’s face, who stubbornly kept his eyes on the cash register.

“It’s fine, I’m not here for him.” He studied Yuri’s closed off attitude towards him and his smile turned into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

Yuri glanced up at Polina, who just turned the page in her book, absent-mindedly playing with her ponytail, wrapping its end around her fingers. She didn’t seem to be paying attention to them, but the bar was quiet and calm at this hour, so there was no way she didn’t notice Otabek coming in.

“Nothing,” he muttered, sitting down on his own stool, grateful for the lack of crowd so he could rest a little. He still avoided Beka’s eyes, but felt them on him, examining his face with a worried look. 

“Yuri,” he started and pulled his hands back a little, “did I do something to upset you?”

“What?” Yuri looked up instantly, his eyes meeting Beka’s and he watched as the Kazakh man tensed up, waiting for his reply. “Why would you think…?”

He didn’t finish the question, because he knew the answer already. Instead, he shook his head and snorted to break the awkwardness around them.

“You’re such an idiot. That shithead Denis quit and now I’m gonna have to work my ass off so I’m pissed.” Beka still didn’t seem convinced so Yuri sighed and added, “Stop it. You’re probably the only person I don’t want to kill right now.”

Beka huffed, and the smile was back, so Yuri busied himself with his gloves, trying them on. His hand was smaller and more slender than Otabek’s and the gloves were too big, but he liked how they looked on him and decided to keep them on until Beka leaves and he has to give them back. He grabbed his phone and took a picture of his left hand giving the finger, intentionally turning towards Polina so she was visible in the background. She had her head turned down, resting it in her palm, and seemed deeply engrossed in her notes so Yuri relaxed a little.

“So, um…,” he drew in a breath, preparing for the question he’d been meaning to ask for a long time, “how was practice today?”

He risked a glance at Beka’s face. To anyone else, his expression would have seemed normal, but Yuri saw the glint of surprise in his eyes and the way his modest smile changed, turned just a little bit happier and _knowing_. 

“It was really good.” The reply was careful but honest, and Beka scanned his face, looking for a sign from him to stop there. Yuri didn’t even flinch and propped his elbow up on the counter, watching him, raising an eyebrow to encourage him to continue. “One of the girls landed her first triple lutz today.” He added with pride in his voice, and Yuri thought that hearing him say it like that was definitely worth getting over himself.

“That’s something,” he replied. “Congratulations. How old is she?”

“She’s eleven. She was so excited she made everyone stop and watch her do it again, but of course she was nervous and almost fell. I gave her the recording so she could show it to her parents too.” Beka leaned in closer, their arms touching on the counter, but Yuri didn’t have the strength to pull away. His friend was back, truly back, with the motorcycle and the leather jacket, and the messed up hair, talking about the kids he was coaching, and Yuri felt like he was nineteen years old again, unable to look at him and not want to hold onto him forever.

“What else?” he asked when Beka stopped, urging him to go on. 

“Um, nothing special. The older kids are already freaking out about the Olympics, trying to come up with a theme for the next season and looking for the right music.”

“Will any of them actually go to the Olympics?”

“One of them has a pretty good chance, but who knows? He was 4th at Worlds this year.”

Yuri nodded.

“Then he needs a really special choreography. To make him stand out even if he doesn’t win. What else?”

Beka’s smile faltered and his eyes became more serious as he was watching Yuri, once again searching for a sign that it was okay to continue.

“Yura, we don’t have to talk about skating, if you don’t want to.”

Yuri rolled his eyes and reached out to poke Beka’s forehead with his index finger, keeping it there for a second. He was still wearing the gloves.

“I asked you, didn’t I? Quit worrying about my well-being, I’m not a fucking flower.”

“Please,” Beka replied, “I’ll never stop worrying about your well-being. You have a tendency to risk it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the time you insisted on driving my bike and even tried to steal it?”

Yuri opened his mouth but realized that he didn’t have a good comeback because that did, indeed happen once, and he crossed his arms, offended.

“That’s not fair! I was eighteen and drunk!”

“My point exactly.” 

Yuri’s phone was buzzing in his pocket so instead of shooting back a sarcastic reply he pulled away, feeling the loss of the leather on his skin. He received several texts which he hadn’t noticed before, all from Polina, the first one right after Otabek arrived. She now looked at them with a wide grin, flailing her arms around in excitement when she finally managed to make eye-contact with Yuri.

_16.18 lina: damn that guy is fine as hell_

_16.19 lina: are you two flirting over there??_

_16.21 lina: NOTICE ME_

_16.27 lina: wait a minute  
16.27 lina: is that him???_

Yuri decided to send her the photo of his middle finger he’d taken earlier, with no explanation or answer to her questions and put his phone back in his pocket.

That act proved to be a mistake, because Polina decided to find things out herself and stood up, walking over to the counter. She handed over her empty glass and took the seat right next to Otabek.

“It seems like Tatiana is on her break, so refill please?” 

It was obviously a revenge for his earlier move. Yuri tried to murder her with his eyes in several different ways, but all he got in return was a smug smile.

“I think someone is stealing your book over there,” he nodded in the direction of her table. Polina just sighed, not even turning around to check if it was maybe true.

“God, finally. They can have it.”

Otabek was waiting patiently for Yuri to get back to him, listening to their conversation with an increasing interest. There was no way around it now, but Yuri was still stalling, hoping for an earthquake or an asteroid to hit them, anything to avoid introducing them to each other.

“Here,” he said, putting the glass down in front of Polina with a loud thud as it met the hard wood, “you can go back now.”

“I haven’t paid yet,” she replied with the same annoyingly sweet smile and made no move to leave them alone.

“Don’t worry, you will,” Yuri muttered but she didn’t pay attention, turning towards Otabek and offering her hand.

“Hi, I’m Polina.” Confusion turned into understanding upon hearing her name and Beka took her hand, shaking it with a polite but reserved smile.

“Otabek. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

That was an overstatement in Yuri’s opinion, but he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to add more fuel to the fire. He was almost scared watching them exchange the first few words, his old and new life blending together, the clear boundaries he set up being washed away by nothing more than a handshake.

“And I haven’t heard enough about you,” Polina replied but went on immediately, not giving a chance for any of them to reply. “But it’s okay, I talk enough for both of us, I think. Feel free to stop me if I’m annoying.”

In hindsight, Yuri had to admit that that was a favor, not forcing them explain their relationship, what they were to one another, but in that moment, he was two seconds away from murdering her.

“You’re annoying,” he cut in quickly but Polina only waved a hand at him.

“And I wasn’t talking to you. You don’t actually have a choice.”

“You go to school with Yuri, am I right?” Beka asked, and Yuri couldn’t decide if he was being polite or genuinely curious. He hoped for the first, but knowing him, it was probably the second. Beka had already proved that he was interested in everything concerning Yuri, from his essays to his work and to the people around him.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Polina snorted, “he sometimes shows up and bothers me in class.”

That definitely caught Otabek’s ears and he turned to Yuri with furrowed eyebrows, deep lines appearing on his forehead.

“You don’t go to your lectures?”

“With my shifts ending at dawn? Forgive me for wanting to get some sleep, for fuck’s sake.” He hoped that would be the end of it but Beka only seemed more worried, clearly not intending to let the subject go.

“You overwork yourself,” he stated and Polina started nodding next to him.

“I keep telling him that too.”

Yuri raised a hand, pointing his finger to Beka.

“Do not even start,” he warned him and then he turned to Polina, who seemed to enjoy the situation a bit too much. “And you. You can choose how you want to die as long as it happens in the next five minutes.”

“She’s just worried about you, Yura,” Beka said softly.

Of course, Yuri knew that. But it didn’t help to hear it from both of them, he felt attacked, cornered, especially because they were right. He did overwork himself, he did miss a lot of his classes, and even if he wanted to go to school, more often than not he slept through his alarm. He ate whenever he remembered that he should and his schedule was all kinds of fucked up due to his nightshifts.

But pointing it out wasn’t going to change the fact that Yuri had no one to financially support him and he had to work extra hard to be able to pay rent, buy food and god forbid, buy a new pair of shoes every once in a while. 

“Well, she doesn’t need to,” he replied after a short silence, “I’m fine.”

“Tough luck,” Polina added, “you’re my best friend, it’s my job to worry.”

Yuri wasn’t looking at her when she spoke, and that’s how he caught Beka’s face when she called herself his best friend. His stomach clenched at the sight of his smile, because he knew him well enough to notice how it didn’t reach his eyes at all, and see the flash of sadness that disappeared just as quickly as it came. 

Yuri didn’t feel the same, though. Beka always had a special place in his life, and ‘best friend’ didn’t even come close to describing how he felt about him, especially after the first few years of their friendship when he grew up and started accepting the fact that dreaming about Beka’s lips on his, their bodies close and their skin touching had already stepped over the boundaries of friendship. He was fine with Polina being his best friend, because Otabek was much more than that, and he knew the perfect word for it, had the feeling been requited. 

He was about to come up with a better answer than an eyeroll, when Tatiana came back from her break which resulted in Polina blushing furiously and trying not to stare but failing. She literally tried to duck to avoid looking too flustered but caught herself last minute and turned her head towards Otabek, hiding her face. 

Yuri threw his hands in the air, sighing in frustration.

“Oh for the love of… hey, Tatiana,” he called out and the girl turned around, her eyes resting on Polina for a second before nodding towards Yuri.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“You study accounting, right?”

Tatiana scoffed but smiled at him anyway.

“Please don’t remind me, but yes, why?”

“Polina here,” he waved in her direction and she gave in, turning back with a shy smile, “would never admit it, but she is terrible with numbers and we have a Statistics exam coming up soon. She was wondering if you’d be willing to help her.”

“Really?” Tatiana looked at Polina who seemed to be unable to form a sentence and just sheepishly nodded. “I can do that. Is tomorrow okay? Maybe over a coffee?”

“I don’t like coffee,” Polina blurted out and Yuri wanted to facepalm but stopped himself last minute and settled for a disbelieving shake of his head. Beka was desperately fighting a smile next to them, looking anywhere but at the two girls. “Sorry, I mean, yeah. I’ll just drink tea. Or a hot chocolate. It doesn’t matter.”

Tatiana laughed at her and quickly sribbled down her phone number on a piece of paper.

“Alright, call me.”

Polina took the note and looked like she was about to burst out giggling, crying or both.

“Okay, well I’m...,” she pointed back at her table, her face redder than Yuri’d ever seen before, “I’m gonna go back. Bye!”

She practically ran back to hide behind her book, keeping her eyes down as she frantically typed something that was almost definitely a text to Yuri. Otabek was watching him with a fond expression, and Yuri realized he was smiling, a proper, kind smile he quickly erased.

“What?” he asked, pretending to not know the reason Beka looked at him with such proud, affectionate eyes.

“You’re a good friend, Yura.”

“Believe me, I did it for my own sake. I’m the one who has to put up with this all the time, I couldn’t bear it anymore.” 

“You don’t fool me,” Beka tilted his head. A small smile was playing on his lips, barely visible but his eyes were shining bright with fondness, and Yuri thought he was beautiful. “That was a really nice thing you did. You care about her.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, not exactly denying the statement but not admitting it was true either. 

People slowly started gathering at the pub after working hours were over and Yuri got busy serving drinks and clearing tables. Beka wasn’t keen on leaving just yet so he stayed at his usual place, asking for a beer from Tatiana and waiting patiently so they could exchange a few words between customers. 

Yuri wasn’t really sure if he wanted him to leave or not. At one point, he heard him talking on the phone and from one side of the conversation he was able to put two and two together and figure out that it was Anton on the other end. Beka told him he would stay for a bit longer before he agreed to have dinner later that day and Yuri turned away silently, trying to sort out his own feelings.

He couldn’t ignore the low, dull pain in his stomach as he stood there, listening to Beka’s soft voice, discussing his date with his boyfriend. He welcomed the familiar feeling like an old friend, a part of him that he had never truly let go, a part of him that slowly resurfaced in the last two months. He was forced to admit that it wasn’t a childish affection, a teenage crush that passes with time, but something that had always been there and probably always will. 

Now more than ever he needed Otabek in his life, but he felt sick thinking about this being his new normal, Beka being there for him close but just out of his reach, hugging and touching him but never quite how Yuri wanted him to, loving him, but not in the way Yuri loved him. 

He wondered if this was how it was going to be forever, pining for his best friend and watching him being with someone else, eventually moving in with the most important person in his life or even get married to them, while he was standing by his side, bottling up his feelings until he couldn’t take it anymore.

He went behind the counter and threw down the rag he used to clear Polina’s table after she left, and turned to serve the people waiting there. It still wasn’t as crowded as usual but both him and Tatiana received their fair share of tips so he wasn’t complaining. The guy next in line asked for shots, blushing while Yuri took his order.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, and the man seemed to hesitate for a moment.

“Actually, um…,” he shifted, flashing a bright but nervous smile at him, and Yuri knew what was coming. “I was hoping I could ask you to, of course if you’re not busy or anything, to maybe get a drink with me sometime?”

At least he wasn’t rude about it, Yuri thought and he tried to be as friendly as possible given his natural attitude towards people like him and his bad mood. Before he could answer though, the guy hurriedly continued.

“I mean, I understand if you don’t want to, it’s just I come here a lot and well, you’re… you seem like a nice person.”

He clearly mistook Yuri for someone else. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Beka’s eyebrows shooting up after hearing the last sentence. He ignored his reaction and took a closer look at the guy who asked him out. 

He was kind of cute, to be honest. Yuri didn’t feel anything when he looked at him, but he was handsome, tall, with light brown hair, blue eyes and a bit of a stubble, his cheeks blushing of embarrassment. Yuri gave him a few extra points for not playing up his obvious agitation.

“I tell you what,” he decided to say, “why don’t you give me your number and I will think about it?”

He handed him a note from the same stack of papers Tatiana used earlier, and he wrote down his name and phone number with slightly shaking hands.

“Thanks,” he said, giving him the note.

“You’re welcome,” Yuri nodded with a quick glance to the name on the paper, “Misha. Now, are you going to pay too?”

He smiled so he wouldn’t come off as rude and watched as the guy blushed even harder, searching for his money and then disappearing behind the line. Yuri stood on his toes and followed him with his eyes as he sat down with his friends and started speaking excitedly, laughing and huffing like he just did something he’d been preparing for for a while. 

He put the note in his front pocket, right next to his phone and looked up, only to find Beka’s eyes on him.

“Does this happen to you often?” he asked, his expression guarded carefully.

“That depends on what ‘often’ means to you,” Yuri shrugged, “maybe once a week.”

“And you take all their numbers?” he frowned with a hint of disapprovement in his voice, and Yuri rolled his eyes.

“I’m not dating every person hitting on me, Beka” he replied, “but I accept their numbers, I'm trying to be polite about it and sometimes I do consider saying yes.”

“Are you considering now?”

Yes, Yuri immediately thought, but didn’t answer right away. He did just establish his place in Otabek’s life, concluding that he was probably doomed to watch him get married and have five biker babies born with undercuts and leather jackets and then this guy just appeared out of nowhere, reminding Yuri that there were other people on the planet.

“He seemed normal,” he said after thinking about it for a few seconds. “So why not?”

“Why not?” Beka repeated after him, “Yuri, you don’t even know him.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to get to know people without meeting them?” In a fraction of a second he got angry at him, more specifically the judgemental tone of his voice when he said Yuri didn’t even know the man. 

He just wanted to give himself a chance, to see if it was even possible for him to look at someone other than Beka and _feel something_ , and here he was, getting a lecture from Otabek of all people. 

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t meet people, it’s just this guy, he seemed…,” Beka stopped talking, realizing that he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. His expression was neutral now, objective even, and he shrugged. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you who you can or cannot date.”

“That’s right, you can’t.” Yuri replied in a cold voice. He hadn’t meant to say anything more, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “You know, I’ve been alone for a long time, I would expect my friend to be happy for me.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Beka sighed, but he didn’t really look at him, glancing at the people instead, his phone and Tatiana on the other end of the counter. “Maybe I’m just tired, I should probably go.”

He stood up, grabbing his helmet. 

“Hey, your gloves!” Yuri called out and started taking them off, but Beka stopped him by reaching across the counter and putting his hand on his.

“Keep them,” was all he said, holding Yuri’s hand for a moment longer before he let go, and moved to make his way to the exit.

“Beka,” Yuri waited until he turned back around, facing him, “we’re good, okay?”

Otabek nodded with a small, grateful smile, and Yuri let out a long breath, trying to calm his racing heart as he pulled the fingerless leather gloves back on.


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"He was tired, tired of avoiding it, tired of being afraid to face it, and most of all, he was tired of this life, the school he didn’t like, the failure upon failure that followed him everywhere, the feeling of wanting to run but having nowhere and no one to run to. He wasn’t fast enough to get away from himself."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 5 here! Lot of things going on, and the chapter is a tiny bit longer than the previous ones.
> 
> As promised, that conversation with Polina I was looking forward to, finally happens here! Woohooo. 
> 
> Also, I don't know if you remember how this whole story started but I got four keywords I had to involve in a "oneshot" (lol). Well I have one in this chapter: borscht.
> 
> Have fun, I hope you're gonna enjoy it, and please let me know if you liked it, hated it, fell asleep during reading or something like that. Thank you!!

“I’m a terrible person.”

Yuri was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling when he blurted this out. Polina was sideways on her queen-sized bed, resting her head against his waist but she propped herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Yuri’s face when he spoke.

“You’re far from terrible.”

Yuri shook his head and avoided looking back at her. The midday sun was shining through Polina’s windows brightly, painting the shape of the trees outside on the opposite wall, and he kept his eyes on the shadows playing around in the corner of her room, following their movements.

He’d been replaying the words in his mind for a while, trying to get used to them, until the thought overwhelmed him and he found it impossible not to say them out loud. He always prided himself in not having any regrets, fighting for and taking what he wanted without anyone stopping him, and here he was years later, wondering what the hell went wrong when he was twenty years old. 

“You don’t know that,” he replied, keeping his voice as casual as he could, “you didn’t know me back then. You have no idea how selfish I was, and I don’t think I’ve changed much ever since.”

“Stop talking like that,” Polina sat up, crossing her legs next to him, frowning at his words.

“Did you know that one of his kids won junior worlds?” He looked back at her now, still not making another move, just turned his head so he could see her reaction. “Because I didn’t. I didn’t ask and he didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sure there is a good reason for that,” Polina replied but it was a weak attempt at comforting him, her words were empty and unconvincing and Yuri scoffed, a sick, unpleasant feeling curling around in his stomach as he went on.

“Yeah, there is. He didn’t want to be inconsiderate. He was so concerned about my fucking feelings that he didn’t tell me that he helped a 14-year-old boy become world champion. What does that say about me?”

When he brought up figure skating at the pub, the subtle change in Otabek’s whole demeanor was undeniable, the way his eyes lit up with pride and his easy smile became softer as he answered his questions. Even his posture was different, all the tension suddenly gone from his shoulders as he got more comfortable talking about his skaters, and it was as if Yuri caught a glimpse of Beka the person, not Beka the friend for the first time. 

That was when he truly realized how one-sided their friendship was, with Otabek giving his all and supporting Yuri through everything, taking his feelings into consideration and watching his every word careful not to hurt him, while his life and career became subordinate to that. Yuri couldn’t shake the thought that it must have been draining to be his friend and he felt rotten about it. 

He believed he had changed since he was twenty, all the losses made him learn to appreciate the few people around him, but the reality was that he still hadn’t stopped to think about anyone but himself.

The silence stretched out between them and Polina fiddled with the hem of her purple comforter, searching for the right answer. She made a low sound of acknowledgement as she carefully weighed her words and Yuri waited but he was certain there wasn’t anything she could say to change his view. She didn’t know what he was like in his teenage years, she wasn’t friends with the rebellious gold medalist figure skater who thought he owned the whole world, who acted like he was perfectly fine on his own and refused to give in to his emotions, only focusing on making the best of his athletic career while it lasted.

She only met him when he was already broken, closed off but for a different reason, having lost everyone around him.

“He cares about you. It was his choice not to tell you these things, you can’t blame yourself for that.”

“No, it doesn’t work like that,” Yuri said, determined to not let her convince him otherwise. It was time for him to stop making excuses and face the truth, even if it meant admitting that he’s the same shitty person he was five years ago. “A friendship goes both ways, I should have asked but I didn’t, because it was easier for me. Everything is always about me,” he added the last sentence bitterly, and Polina responded by widening her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. She then took a deep breath and sat up straighter, waiting until Yuri got curious and glanced at her.

“Yuri, do you know why I’m friends with you?”

“Now that you mention it,” he frowned and sat up too, mirroring Polina’s position and crossing his legs, resting his elbows on a pillow in his lap, “no, I don’t. I’m horrible to you, like all the time.”

“Bullshit,” she said with a scolding look. “Remember when I broke up with Nat and I was holed up in here for days? You practically kicked the door in, demanding that I go back to school.”

“That doesn’t count,” Yuri replied, “I was bored without you, and all the moping just made you annoying so I had to put an end to it. I did that for my own sake.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she raised an eyebrow, “you brought me borscht and made me eat proper food, then you did my make up and had a DS9 marathon with me.”

“See? You don’t even like Star Trek. I was selfish.”

“Shut up, I’m not finished,” Polina waved a hand dismissively and continued without a pause, “how about the fact that basically everyone knows I’m dyslexic but you’re the only one who noticed that I have trouble keeping up in Macroecs? You always give me your notes afterwards and you never ask or say anything about it.”

“That’s different. It’s not your fault, he changes the slides so fast even I have trouble writing everything down. And he’s an asshole for not sharing the presentation anyway.”

“Just two weeks ago you set me up with the girl I liked,” Polina went on, not giving Yuri enough time to protest as she got a bit louder and more confident with every word. “And you can tell me how you just wanted me out of there so you can have a little one on one with your friend but if that were the case, you would have done it before he got there. Oh and you wouldn’t have given me a pep talk before the date or after, when I was too nervous to call her and ask her out again.”

She had a point there. Yuri could have used Tatiana as a means to an end, setting her up with Polina so she’d get nervous and leave them alone, but he had to admit that he did it because it was painful to watch his friend putting her foot in her mouth everytime Tatiana was around. He had had enough of it and wanted to move things along so he acted.

Polina only needed that tiny little push though, because within a week she went on two dates with Tatiana, not counting the very first one, when she just pretended to suck at Statistics so she’d tutor her. Yuri remembered how excited she sounded when she called him afterwards and announced that apparently she was a horrible actress. Tatiana saw through her within the the first hour, Polina told him, but waited until the end of the date because, in her words, it was funny and cute how she tried to look dumb and failed so terribly. 

She also gave her a short lecture on how she should never pretend to be stupid for another person, and that was the exact moment Yuri knew that Tatiana was a good choice for Polina.

But he still refused to admit that she was right, looking at her unimpressed, pursing his lips.

“What’s your point?”

“My point is,” Polina replied without missing a beat, “that you’re a much kinder person than you give yourself credit for. Yuri, you don’t even notice all the nice things you do for the people you care about. And as for your attitude, I for one, appreciate it, because I never feel like you only do it because you feel sorry for me.”

Yuri hummed, not sure how to respond to that. Even if Polina was right, he still thought that he waited too long to start talking about figure skating with Beka, missing major events of his life only because it was painful for him to hear it. Not to mention another important part of his days that they somehow both managed to avoid as a subject for conversation.

His boyfriend. 

There were days when Yuri forgot he even existed, but that wasn’t entirely his fault. Although he wasn’t very keen on hearing stories about the two of them, he found it weird how Otabek had never even tried to talk about Anton, how they got together, what kind of person he was. 

He couldn’t help but compare them to Viktor and the pig, because as annoying as the pair was, their relationship set the example to Yuri on how these things generally work. He grew up watching the two build their life together, and he saw how Viktor especially changed from the moment Yuuri appeared. It hadn’t even been a few months before it was all we and us instead of him alone, constantly talking about the other man, telling funny stories about him, dropping half sentences about Yuuri, and how he always seemed happier even when the japanese wasn’t around. Then it got to the point where Yuuri answered Viktor’s phone, Makkachin became their dog instead of Viktor’s, and they no longer bought gifts separately to anyone.

Yuri had very little idea of how a relationship changes a person because the few flings and dates he had didn’t matter enough for that. He could only guess that even if someone doesn’t get the fairytale love story Viktor and Yuuri had, most relationship should resemble it in some way, especially in the beginning. He knew that Beka and Anton had been together for only a few months and deep down, under the layers of pain and jealousy it sparked his curiosity and he became more and more aware of the differences. 

Because Otabek was still the exact same person as he was years ago, and he barely mentioned Anton at all. His eyes didn’t lit up the way Viktor’s did when his phone chimed with a text and he saw who it was from, and Yuri had yet to see that special smile everyone had, the one people kept for only one person in their life, the one that crept onto their face even when they only heard the name of the other. When he was with Yuri, Beka didn’t get distracted by a message he got from his boyfriend, and when he talked about his day, it was all _me_ most of the time, only bringing up Anton when he was part of the story. 

Yuri remembered how Viktor grabbed every opportunity to talk about Katsuki Yuuri, original subject be damned, whether it was skating, food, a movie or politics. He casually mentioned what the japanese’s opinion was on said thing, how they had _just_ seen that movie the other day, or that he couldn’t decide what to cook for lunch the next day and this recipe sounds wonderful but Yuuri hates this or that so he would have to choose something else.

Maybe Beka didn’t actively try to avoid talking about Anton, but the fact that he didn’t make every second conversation end with a comment or remark in connection with him was certainly weird for Yuri. He didn’t expect him to be on the same level of embarrassing as Viktor, but his relationship was a rare subject even by Otabek-standards.

It almost made him want to ask Beka about it, but at the same time he was grateful for the lack of signs and decided to let it go every single time. He liked this predictability, the calm and steady beating of his heart when they were together, the absolute trust that he could count on him, that Otabek would never hurt Yuri because somehow, in some unimaginable way Beka must have known not to talk about his boyfriend in front of him. 

That was the only explanation and it made sense to him, because Beka always knew what he needed. He was everything Yuri ever wanted from the moment he first saw him ten years ago in Barcelona. At the time he was unable to name the feeling that washed over him in the second their eyes met, and back then he didn’t know that he wouldn’t ever forget the fire he saw, the weight of Otabek’s gaze on him, that unexplainable tug Yuri felt in his stomach as he looked back at him. 

Sometimes he wondered if Beka even understood the connection between them, if he was aware of it or if it was only his subconscious telling him how to treat Yuri, how to talk to him and offer comfort, when to leave him alone and when to wrap his arms around him without saying a word. He wondered if it was an instinct built into his DNA, the ability to read Yuri’s movements the same way he could read Beka’s eyes, every glint, gaze and blink holding a meaning, carrying words and emotions, messages most people failed to hear.

But of course if that were the case, Beka would have known exactly how Yuri felt about him long before he himself realized it. He should have seen it in the way Yuri’s fingers used to linger on his skin, how he sometimes forgot about himself and stared at him a moment longer than necessary, wondering what it would be like to feel his lips on his collarbone, to drag his nails across his shoulders and down his back, feeling the muscles tighten under his touch. He would have noticed how Yuri used to break the tension with a rude comment or a joke, betrayed only by the light pink shade on his cheeks, turning away and pretending he didn’t just get distracted by the mental images of waking up next to his best friend.

“I’m in love with him,” he said in the empty silence of the room, not particularly to Polina but to himself, feeling the words on his lips as they left him. He thought it would feel strange, awkward, like learning a different language, but saying that he loved Beka was the easiest and most natural thing he had ever had to put into words. 

It was almost as easy as saying it with his body, skating the emotions he felt and scraping them all over the rink. There was a raw honesty in leaving behind little bits of snow as he cut his toe pick into the ice, lunged himself in the air and let his crossed legs and raised arms do the talking. He did that more times than he could count, but he had never said it out loud before, and he stayed silent after that, the weight of his words sitting heavily on his chest. He looked up to find Polina’s gaze on him, her eyes sad and understanding, a small smile resting on her lips.

“I know, honey.”

“I’m going on that date with the other guy.”

It was already planned, Yuri had called Misha a few days after their encounter at the pub and agreed to meet him on his only day off that week. Ever since that, he’d been debating whether or not he should cancel, listing pro and contra points, trying to come up with a lie to at least postpone it, giving himself more time to decide if he was ready.

But having said these words out loud, admitting that he loved Otabek, he realized that he had to give himself a chance. There was no later, no maybe, no if or when that could have changed his situation. He screwed up his friendship with Beka five years ago, he abandoned him for his own selfish reasons and now, even though they tried to rebuild what they had before, he felt it was never going to be the same again. Their relationship was fragile at best, the past overshadowing the hesitant steps they took towards each other, Yuri’s guilt and his own losses constantly pushing him back. 

Polina wished him luck and told him to be careful, and her lips formed a sad copy of the lighthearted, joyful smile she usually gave him. 

And then Yuri went on the date and had fun.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun. He had planned to keep his distance, watch a movie, talk about less personal things at first, letting the other do most of the talking and just listen, to get to know him. He was planning it with an athlete’s mindset, trying to find the most effective tactic, going as far as possible without the risk of hurting himself, but then the guy showed up and Yuri completely forgot about being cautious.

Misha said the most unexpected things. It was probably due to his shyness and nervous babbling, but instead of pissing Yuri off, it entertained him to no end, and he found it almost endearing. He started the date by literally bumping into Yuri as he rushed to the place and immediately told a story about how he once got hit by a car on his way to a date but still hadn’t learnt to pay attention to where he was going. 

Yuri’s eyebrows shot up, and he lowered his defenses for a moment just to ask him to tell the whole story because the way he presented it was so funny it almost sounded fake.

They went to get something to eat and ended up at what was probably the shittiest restaurant in St. Petersburg where they proceeded to rename everything on the menu and placed bets on which one of them was going to take the other to the hospital with food poisoning. 

They took a long walk in the nearby park and Misha told him that one of the trees reminded him of his cousin. Yuri hadn’t even known it was possible for trees to look like people but Misha said it was more like his cousin resembled a tree. He told stories about his family, shared anecdotes and embarrassing memories, not feeling awkward or ashamed in the least about any of them.

But he also asked a thousand questions, listening eagerly to everything Yuri had to say, nodding along with his eyes shining and his smile growing ear-to-ear. Yuri answered shortly to everything, not saying enough but saying way more than he’d originally wanted to, and Misha hung on his words, starting a dull, unpleasant feeling in Yuri’s chest which he couldn’t quite name at the time.

He only figured it out later, after Misha walked him home, with their fingers laced together and a hesitant kiss pressed on his cheek, blushing and grinning with the same boyish shyness he saw at the bar. It reminded him of something but he couldn’t put his finger on it until he was alone in his apartment, in the soothing silence where he could finally took a moment to look back on the whole date, analyzing it with that athlete mindset he forgot to use. 

Misha was funny, nice and charming, easy-going in a way that didn’t make Yuri uncomfortable, but he clearly had a massive crush on him that had been developing for quite some time. It made him feel like he was talking to a fan, a long-time Yuri’s Angel, which probably wasn’t the case but he couldn’t ignore the feeling once he realized it. He was so used to avoiding these kinds of situations that his first instinct was to run, to vanish without explanation but the thought made him sick, remembering the last time he did that.

His phone buzzed, tearing him away from the memories and he pulled up his messages to find a text from Misha.

_21.12 Misha: i know i’m not supposed to text for like 3 days but to hell with that_

Yuri snorted loudly, breaking the surrounding silence.

_21.12 Misha: i want to see you again_

He waited, his fingers stopping right before he was about to throw his phone back on his bed, ignoring the message.

He promised that he would give himself a chance. He had long given up telling himself he didn’t need anyone, even if he sometimes still kept the act in front of the world. He deserved to find out if there was anyone out there for him other than Otabek, to try and end the years of pining and suffering, he deserved the possibility of having a partner he could love, someone who makes his world less painful, less lonely, less boring. 

Boring was probably the one he feared most. He could deal with bad things, losses, failures but it had been a while since he experienced any of it. Nothing happened to him anymore, his days were endless repetition of habits, a web of tiny, meaningless aspects of the real life people had to grow into. 

He had always imagined something different from this. He wanted to continue skating until he was too old to do so, then become a choreographer. He never saw himself as a coach, he knew he wasn’t good at dealing with people that much, but he had a clear picture of what he was going to do. 

And now he couldn’t even watch a competition without feeling sorry for himself, and hadn’t dared to put on his skates in four years. He went to a university he hated, and had a meaningless job with no future. He was pining for his best friend who was in a relationship.

It wasn’t life, it was an endless source of pain in his body, not dull enough to ignore completely but not bad enough to feel the need to make it stop.

He typed in a quick response before going to bed, not waiting for an answer.

_21.15 me: okay_

 

He woke up the next day feeling just as tired as before. He had a restless night, turning and tossing in his bed, never really comfortable but too drained of energy to get up and find something useful to do instead. He wasn’t sure how many hours he spent with actual sleeping but judging by the dark, persistent circles under his eyes, it couldn’t have been enough. 

He blamed his schedule, which nowadays was even more hectic than before. The semester was coming to an end and he was supposed to be studying but with the absence of Denis, he was constantly needed in the pub too, taking on extra shifts and hours. He was working 5-6 days a week and only went to school to his afternoon classes or not at all. He had more trouble sleeping at night even when he finally had a chance, because he was so used to the late hours, getting home at 3 am and staying in bed until noon, that he always felt tired but unable to sleep. 

Polina tried to help, she gave him her notes, reminded him of deadlines and called him from time to time to check if he was alive, but there was only so much she could do. She couldn’t read the book instead of him or prepare for the exams twice so Yuri wouldn’t have to, and he felt the threat of failure growing behind his back like a shadow, following him everywhere. He accepted the feeling with silent resignation, a fake calmness he only felt because he didn’t even have the energy to properly panic about them. 

His social life had been reduced to quick meetings at the pub. Otabek stopped by frequently on his way home from the rink, sitting quietly at his usual place, sometimes not even holding a conversation just minding his own business. He shared a few words with Yuri while he was browsing news or watching videos of his skaters, taking notes on what to improve and what to focus on during the trainings. 

He once asked him to check out one of the recordings and tell him his opinion on a choreography and Yuri, after a moment of hesitation said yes. He took a short break and spent it pressed against Beka’s side, trying to resist the urge to rest his chin on his shoulder as they watched the video together. He couldn’t help but imagine a different reality, where he would be free to wrap his arms around Beka’s waist simply out of habit, where it would be so natural he wouldn’t have to think twice about it. 

But in this one, his arms were hanging awkwardly by his side as he watched the video, wondering if it should hurt more. 

He expected it to hurt more. It was the first time he saw a whole program since he retired and Yuri didn’t trust himself to hold it together. Beka hit play and he stood beside him, fingers curling and nails digging into the skin on his palm. 

But there was only a strange emptiness inside him, with traces of bitterness, light and not quite there, like pictures of a nightmare you could barely recall in the morning. Yuri pointed out a few mistakes here and there, recommending some changes in the step sequence and he even gave some advice on how to correct his Biellmann and make it more impressive. 

The fondness in Otabek’s smile in return was something he couldn’t stop thinking about for days, no matter how much he tried to shift his attention towards his second date with Misha instead. 

He waited for him in front of the building after Yuri’s classes were over, and he saw Polina eyeing him suspiciously, eyebrows furrowing in disapprovement and something else Yuri didn’t recognize. She didn’t give him the same pep talks she did when Yuri first met Otabek, that excitement was completely absent as she waved goodbye and disappeared in the crowd of students. 

He had a nice time with him again, and for a while he even forgot about most of his problems. He asked more questions and learnt that Misha was also a student, he studied russian philology, and he was passionate about literature. He shared Yuri’s love for video games and he had so many cousins he couldn’t remember the names of all of them. Yuri carefully asked him about sports and Misha told him that he had never lifted a finger in his life unless he absolutely had to, and hadn’t followed any sports as a fan either.

Yuri relaxed when he heard that, his suspicions regarding Misha’s attitude towards him laid to rest immediately, but he still hadn’t mentioned anything about his own past. He didn’t want to start explaining why he didn’t compete anymore and he certainly wasn’t ready to tell stories about his life as a figure skater, only to bring up memories he had long buried. 

As much as he hated comparing them, Misha wasn’t Otabek, he wouldn’t have understood just how important this part of his life was and what it meant to lose it. So he decided not to mention it, at least not for a little while, not until he trusted him. 

Hanging out with Misha was easy. Yuri was amazed by his ability to _talk_ , the way he used just the right words, how he described everything perfectly down to the last detail, like he was painting a picture right in front of him. He twisted the words and expressions in a way that made the most boring story a funny one, paused at the right moments like a comedian and delivered unexpected punchlines. He was enthusiastic about everything, and when Yuri mentioned that, he smiled and gave a shrug, his shyness returning in a second upon hearing Yuri’s comment.

“Yeah, I mean… if you like something, why not give it your all? What’s the point in doing anything half-hearted?”

He walked Yuri home again and shifted from one foot to another, his eyes subtly resting on his lips for a moment before he glanced down, a blush forming under the dimples of his cheek. Yuri was standing still, waiting to see if he makes a move or not, and after a few awkward seconds he turned to his door with the key in his hand. 

“Are you free tomorrow?” Yuri rushed to get the question out before he could change his mind, turning back suddenly with determination in his eyes. 

Misha nodded and his smile became even wider if that was possible. 

“Yeah I am.”

“Okay,” Yuri said, not sure how to continue. “I’ll… text you then.”

Misha didn’t kiss him that night, but for a moment, Yuri wished he had.

He went to school again the next day, and sat next to Polina as usual, but as he tapped impatiently with his pen on the table, he had to admit he had no idea what was going on. About halfway through the lecture he’d given up, not even trying to pretend he understood any of it. He missed the last couple of classes so he felt like it was a waste of time to show up now, when he couldn’t do anything but stare at the teacher with a blank expression, while his mind tried to process words he hadn’t even heard before. 

He sighed, leaning forward and resting his chin in his palm and he took his phone out to kill the time.

_15.19 me: what’s up?_

The answer arrived a few minutes later with a photo.

_15.23 Beka: Check this out._

Yuri opened the attached file. It was a skater, a young boy around the age of 15, the same one whose program Yuri watched with Otabek. The picture showed him during practice, performing a perfect Biellmann, obviously making use of the advice Yuri offered.

_15.25 me: nice_  
_15.25 me: tell him to raise his free hand more_  
_15.25 me: it hurts my eyes_

_15.27 Beka: We are working on it. How are you?_

There it was, Yuri’s favourite question again. He wanted to reply with something sarcastic about how he was slowly dying inside but he didn’t want Otabek to worry about him. 

_15.27 me: fine i guess_

Yeah, fine. Drowning, constantly exhausted and overworked but other than that, he felt fucking fantastic.

_15.29 Beka: No you’re not. What’s wrong?_

_15.29 me: ???_

_15.30 Beka: You only say you’re fine when you’re lying about it._

Of course Otabek would notice something like that. Yuri bit his lower lip, trying to come up with an answer. He was so deep in thought he barely registered that the class was over and people started gathering their things around him. Polina gently kicked his leg under the table, and stood up, grabbing her notebook. Yuri put his phone away, deciding that he would text back later when he heard a voice calling out his name.

“Mr. Plisetsky, a word please.”

He slowly turned around, making eye contact with the professor, who was looking at him with a stern face with his hands in his pocket. Yelchin raised his eyebrows expectantly and Yuri walked over to his table, wondering what the hell he wanted to talk about.

“Have a seat please.”

Yuri silently obeyed. It couldn’t have been the texting. Yelchin always said that it they didn’t want to pay attention, that was their responsibility, unless they disturb the class in any way, and Yuri was careful not to do that. He grabbed the edge of his chair and felt the tension in his shoulders grow as he waited. Yelchin typed something on his laptop and ran his eyes over the screen before turning back to him.

“We haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“I know,” Yuri replied.

“You’re aware that I allow my students to be absent from four classes in a semester, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

The professor sighed and leaned back on the chair, adjusting his glasses slightly. He cast his eyes down and for a second it seemed like Yelchin felt sorry for him, which pissed Yuri off but at the same time scared him, because he didn’t expect this to be that big of a problem.

He obviously missed more than four classes, he knew that, but he wasn’t sure what that meant to him. He always assumed it was just a number that didn’t really matter anyway, or maybe he would have some kind of disadvantage on the exam, like his result would be reduced by ten points automatically. 

“You missed six of them,” Yelchin said, glancing back at the computer to check again, “which means I cannot let you take the exam.”

“I’m sorry what?” Yuri’s eyes widened and he shook his head, not wanting to believe what he had just heard. “No wait, I can’t… I need to complete this course.”

“You can still do it next year.”

“I won’t be able to graduate in time,” Yuri realized, and his voice became louder as he argued. “The seminar builds on this, I’d have to do that again too, and I can’t take Strategic Management next semester without this one...”

“Look,” Yelchin’s quiet voice interrupted his and he stopped talking, taking a deep breath, “you’re smart, I know that. But that doesn’t mean you can afford not to attend your classes…”

“Do you think I did it because I’m lazy?” Yuri cut him off, and now he was angry. His hands were trembling and he tried to stop himself from yelling at his teacher who still had that stupid, patient look on his face which almost reminded him of Nikolai. “I’m working my ass off, that’s why I can’t come to your classes. I have to pay rent and buy my own food and books which are pretty expensive by the way, especially yours. I don’t have a mom or dad sending me weekly pocket money and if I get thrown out of my apartment I don’t have anywhere to go. I would be homeless. So excuse me if your class is not exactly high on my list of priorities.”

His voice cracked, and he stood up, picking up his bag from the floor where he dropped it. Yelchin still gave no sign of being upset because of the voice Yuri allowed himself to use, and he took off his glasses, putting them gently on his desk.

“I understand that, believe me. But that’s something you should have talked to me about when the semester began. We could have found a solution together, but you have to learn to ask for help when you need it.”

Yuri wanted to scream but he only shook his head in disbelief and closed his eyes for a moment. He lifted his hand and pointed at the professor. 

“You know what? Fuck this. I don’t need this. I didn’t even want to come here, I don’t care.”

He stormed out without waiting for an answer and didn’t stop until he was outside, out of the deafening silence of the nearly empty building. He breathed in and out, looking around, searching for a familiar face, someone he can shout at. Where was Polina when he needed her?

He just said ‘fuck this’ in front of a professor, regarding his own class. He yelled at him and told him he never wanted to apply to this university in the first place. 

There were no words to describe how much he screwed up.

He clenched his jaw and started walking, letting his feet take him wherever they wanted to at first. He wandered around the neighbourhood aimlessly before he grabbed his phone, checking his messages and saw that Otabek sent him another text after he didn’t receive a reply. 

Otabek. He needed to talk to him. 

He always knew what to say, even if it wasn’t what Yuri wanted to hear, and his presence alone was enough to calm the storm inside him. Otabek was his anchor, the one who held him back when it was needed and offered new perspectives, solutions he hadn’t thought of or just a quiet moment to think, to get away from the world. Yuri longed for his deep, soothing voice now, the safety of his company and he turned around with a new determination, making his way to the place he knew Otabek would be at this time of the day.

The rink. 

He hadn’t been there for years, but at the moment he didn’t have the energy to care about that. He was tired, tired of avoiding it, tired of being afraid to face it, and most of all, he was tired of this life, the school he didn’t like, the failure upon failure that followed him everywhere, the feeling of wanting to run but having nowhere and no one to run to. He wasn’t fast enough to get away from himself.

He didn’t even have to think about the route, his legs were carrying him on autopilot, unaware of the distance between the university and his old training rink. One thought was chasing the other in his mind and he was unable to stop them, fractions of his discussion with Yelchin coming back, the look on his face when Yuri practically spat in his face, telling him ‘fuck this’, the realization of having to spend more time at this hellhole and graduate a year after everyone else, having to watch Polina and all the others getting their degrees while he was still struggling to finish his own thesis and complete all the necessary courses. His own graduation would not be a celebration anymore but more like a walk of shame, dressing up and showing the whole world how he couldn’t do what everyone else could. 

If he had listened to the more rational part of his mind, he would have reminded himself that he probably wasn’t the first and not the last student to finish university in 4 years instead of 3, Yelchin was right about that. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. For him, other people’s failures didn’t justify his own. He couldn’t shake the mental image of having to accept his degree with strangers around him, people who started a year later, most of them not even 23 at the time of graduation. He was already older than most of his classmates, and he was going to be more than 26 by that time. 

He only stopped when he found himself right in front of the entrance of the ice rink and he drew in a sharp, quivery breath, looking at the door like he just woke up from a dream. His heart was beating frantically in his chest and he felt its drumming in his throat so he swallowed, lingering outside.

He could do this. He had already been talking about figure skating with Beka, even watched a recording of one of his pupils. This was no different.

Except this time, he was going to see it all in person. He was going to feel the cold on his skin and the border of the rink under his fingers, hear the blades scraping across the ice, the voices echoing in the large stadium. 

This place used to be his second home, he knew it inside and out, every corner familiar, filled with memories. 

Right before he reached for the door, a guy pushed past him, stopping dead in his tracks when he turned around and saw his face.

“You’re... Yuri Plisetsky,” he said with awe in his voice, mostly with surprise instead of the excitement Yuri was used to. Well, he hadn’t been spotted near a rink in four years so it was understandable. He gave a short, sharp nod in return, and didn’t say anything.

“Wow, okay. Are you here to skate?” There was an awkwardness to his attitude but he seemed friendly, his small, brown eyes looking him up and down. Yuri shifted, uncomfortable under the intent gaze. The guy stood right in front of the door, blocking the way in, waiting for an answer.

“No,” he barked at him, running out of patience, “are you going to stand there all day or can I go in?”

The stranger didn’t seem fazed at all and smiled, opening the door for him.

“Bad day, huh?”

“That’s an understatement.” Yuri mumbled to himself, but loud enough so that the other would hear it. They went in together, the guy still looking at him, openly examining his features.

They walked past the first corridor leading down to the locker rooms and stopped just inside the door to the arena. 

He didn’t even have to look for Otabek. Yuri noticed him instantly, his eyes were drawn to his figure on the ice and he sucked in a breath, staring at him as he skated around in a small circle, a little girl following him. 

_Beautiful_ , that was the first word that came to his mind as he observed him, hidden in the dark corner and watched how Beka skated with ease, his tight training clothes matching the black skates he was wearing. He said something and the girl next to him lunged herself into a slow camel spin. Otabek carefully stopped her and started talking, lifting her leg a bit higher and giving instructions quietly, one hand extended in the air, the other letting go of the girl and gesturing something. Yuri guessed he was talking about how she should hold her back, how important it was to keep it straight and then the girl said something which made Otabek laugh.

Laughter rarely ever broke through the shell of his quiet stoicism, but when it did, Yuri kept that moment forever, every second of it a treasure meant to be remembered. 

Otabek rarely laughed out loud but when he did, he laughed with his whole body. 

He threw his head back with his eyes closed and leaned backwards, bending his knees. He laughed with his entire being, small wrinkles appearing at the corner of his eyes, his smile blinding and happy. His voice made Yuri’s body sing, and he felt like his skin was hot all over. Beka was beautiful like this, that was the perfect word for it, calm, happy and comfortable enough to let his emotions show. 

Yuri had to look away, casting his eyes down guiltily when he noticed the man next to him watching quietly. 

“I’ll tell him you’re here,” he said softly and smiled, dark blonde strands of hair falling in his face as he turned away and made his way to the gate. Beka met him there and the guy grabbed his hand, his thumb brushing lightly against his wrist while they talked.

That was the moment Yuri realized who he was.

Beka turned his head and spotted Yuri at the door. He let go of Anton’s hand and left the ice, his eyebrows furrowing in worry as he put on his skate guards and walked over to him. The kids gathered around one of the assistant coaches Yuri remembered from his days here, and they started stretching, ending their training.

Otabek stopped in front of him, his eyes searching for something in Yuri’s expression that could hold the answer to the question he had yet to ask.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He put his arm around his shoulders and led him to a bench further away from the door, and Yuri tensed up under his touch, the picture of Beka and Anton holding hands too fresh among his memories. He took off the thin scarf he got from the Nishigoris and placed it next to himself, keeping his eyes on the animal print until he collected himself and started speaking.

“I think I was accidentally rude to your boyfriend,” he admitted.

“Accidentally,” Beka repeated, trying to hide an amused smile. He sat down on the bench facing Yuri, watching him with a fond look. “Yura,” he said, catching his jacket between his fingers to get him to look at him, “What’s wrong?”

And so Yuri told him. He talked about the class he was going to fail, the conversation he had with Yelchin, the fact that he was going to have to go to his course again and it meant he would graduate a year later. He told him that he hadn’t had any time to preapre for any of his exams and how he felt that he couldn’t do it anyway, even if he had time, he was so tired and he just needed a week off. A whole week off when time would stop and the world would stand still so he would have a moment to catch his breath. 

Otabek was listening, his dark eyes never leaving his, and Yuri wanted nothing more than to hide in his arms, brushing his nose against his neck and shut the whole world out so he would feel safe, and less alone, less miserable.

He sniffled a bit when he finished, turning his head down and staring at his hands instead and Otabek put his palm on top of them, grabbing his attention.

“Okay,” he said, “okay. One problem at a time. Write an email to your teacher tonight. Tell him that you’re sorry and you’re willing to do extra work for the credits, like write another essay or make a presentation, maybe a preliminary exam so he can make sure that you made up for the missed classes.”

“Extra work? On top of all this?” Yuri frowned.

“I’ll help you. You don’t have to do it alone.”

“And if he says no?”

“We’ll worry about that when it happens.” 

Otabek was still resting his hand on his, and Yuri didn’t have the strength to pull away. He turned his own hand up instead and curled his fingers around Otabek’s, holding onto him.

“Thanks, Beka.”

“Anytime” he smiled, “and I mean it, take it one problem at a time. Focus on your next exam and only that one, don’t worry about anything else. You’ll go crazy if you try to solve everything all at once.”

“Oh god, I’m fucked,” Yuri replied, huffing, “have you met me?”

“Once or twice, yes, that’s why I know you can do it.”

He had that smile on his face again, that half-smile, fond and amused that always made Yuri feel weak and vulnerable to the effect he had on him. It was the same smile he used to wear when Yuri won a competition or when he complained to him about his rinkmates, or talked about something Yakov didn’t allow him to do. It was the same smile he gave Yuri when he said something funny, or when he watched him work at the pub, showing off by throwing bottles and glasses in the air.

That smile was mocking him, and Yuri turned his head, pulling his hand back when he spotted Anton on the other side of the rink, probably waiting for them. 

“I should go,” he said and he searched for his phone, only now remembering a certain promise he made the previous day.

“I’ll give you a lift,” Beka replied, “let me just…”

He looked over where Anton was waiting, standing up to go and let him know he would take Yuri home. Yuri grabbed his hand to stop him.

“You don’t have to,” he blurted out, and he typed a quick message in his phone, “I’m meeting Misha.”

For a few seconds Otabek became impossibly still at that, frowning lightly while he recalled the familiar name. 

“The guy from the pub who asked you out?”

“Yes, he’s gonna be here to pick me up soon.”

“...with what?”

Yuri pressed his lips together and pretended to be annoyed to hide his nervous blushing. He didn’t really want to talk about this with Otabek, but it was out now so there was no going back. 

“You know, with a car? That thing we use to get to places faster?”

“I know what a car is,” Otabek replied in a flat voice, keeping his eyes on the ice rink now instead of Yuri’s face. “And you’re okay with that? A stranger picking you up?”

“He’s not a stranger,” Yuri corrected him and remembered that he had no way of knowing that. “This is going to be our third date.”

“Third?” 

“Yeah.”

“I still don’t think you should get in his car.” Otabek seemed stubborn and Yuri widened his eyes not believing the words he’d heard. 

“You’re one to talk,” he replied, “you literally had me on your bike like two seconds after we met.”

“That was different,” Otabek shook his head, his voice still even and not betraying any emotion. He turned back towards the rink and Yuri couldn’t see his eyes properly, couldn’t read what was going through his mind behind the deep brown irises.

“You practically kidnapped me from a dark alley in another country, how is that different?”

“I saved you,” Beka shot him a glance.

“Sure,” Yuri rolled his eyes, “whatever floats your boat, prince charming. It doesn’t change the fact that this whole disapproving attitude is a bit rich coming from you.”

His phone buzzed and he stood up, picking up his bag.

“I’m going,” he said, not making another move. Otabek looked at him and the silence stretched between them. 

“Okay.”

“Thanks for… you know,” Yuri made a vague gesture with his hand but Beka understood and an almost invisible smile appeared in the corner of his lips. It seemed a little bit forced but Yuri decided to take it, not risking another argument like they had the last time at the pub. 

“You’re welcome, Yura.”

“I’m gonna go.”

He waited for another few seconds then turned around, making his way to the exit. 

Misha was already there, lingering near the door when Yuri stepped out. He looked just as nervous as he did before their first date, and he bit his lower lip when he saw Yuri, his dimples even deeper as his smile grew wide. 

“Hey,” with one step he was right in front of him, taking his hand.

Yuri let out a long breath. The whole day was overwhelming and he just wanted to relax, to forget about all of it. He hoped Misha would entertain him with some stories again to take his mind off of things, but something was different in the way he greeted him this time, and Yuri realized what it was before he even started speaking.

“There is something I wanted to do last night but I didn’t,” he said, hesitant and hopeful like the previous evening when his eyes kept returning to Yuri’s lips. “I’m gonna do it now.”

Yuri tightened his hold on his hand and took an impossibly small step towards him, lifting his head. 

Misha kissed him.

He kissed him as if he’d been waiting for this for years, cupping his cheeks with both hands, his fingers brushing through his hair behind his ears, and Yuri put his arms around his waist, letting himself melt against him, losing himself in the affectionate touches. It’d been so long since anyone touched him like this and he hadn’t even realized how much he craved it, how much he needed someone to hold him. He kissed back like he was fighting, chasing a feeling just out of his reach.

He didn’t feel anything.

It was nice, pleasant after spending such a long time starving for affection but there was no firework, no butterflies in his stomach, no feeling of never wanting it to end. They pulled apart and Misha was looking at him with bright eyes, his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip, and Yuri resisted the urge to use the back of his hand to wash away the taste on his own. 

Misha averted his eyes and kept them on a point behind Yuri’s back before stepping away and waving a hand, signaling him to turn around.

Yuri looked back at the door and locked eyes with Otabek.

“You left this” he said simply, holding the leopard print scarf and his expression was unreadable, more serious and closed off than Yuri had ever seen him. This time he didn’t avoid his eyes but he felt distant, his stern look made of stone, his lips pressed together in a thin line and Yuri’s stomach clenched, wondering how long he had been standing there. 

Otabek dropped the scarf as soon as Yuri got hold of it, and without waiting for an answer he disappeared behind the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two important things to say. No wait, three.
> 
> 1\. I don't think anyone who cannot finish uni in time is a failure. It's not a big deal actually (I finished mine a year later than I should have) but we all know how competitive Yuri is and just because he stopped competing, he will never _stop competing_. 
> 
> 2\. I'm not exactly sure how russian universities work, I tried to do some research but mostly I based the scenes on common sense and our country's unis.
> 
> 3\. Y'all wanted jealous!Otabek HERE HE IS, I hope you're happy, this chapter broke my heart in five different ways, also, for a VERY SHORT moment I started shipping Yuri with Misha instead of Beka. (Don't worry, it was just a phase, it's over now.)
> 
> +1 the story of "getting hit by a car on their way to the date" happened to me once (i mean, my date got hit by a car, and it wasn't a fake story to dump me :'D)


	6. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Beka caught up to him quickly and he stepped in front of him. His fingers curled around Yuri’s wrist, gently pulling his hand away from his face so he could see him._
> 
> _“Yuri, wait.” He cupped his cheek with his other hand and searched for his eyes. “God, what happened?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Okay so this part turned out to be much, much longer than I expected, so I decided to add another chapter and make it into two separate ones. Here's part 6, I hope you're going to like it. We're getting closer to the end now...
> 
> Enjoy!

_From: Dr. Alexei Yelchin; alexei.yelchin@uni.spbu.ru_  
_To: Yuri Plisetsky; notyuriplisetsky@gmail.com_

_Subject: Re: management exam_

 

_Mr. Plisetsky,_

_You make a strong case. I appreciate your willingness to work hard and make up for the time you missed, and I want you to know that I am not your enemy. It may come as a surprise to you, but I am not here to see as many students fail as possible._

_I am willing to give you a chance to prove to me that you take this course seriously. Please come see me in my office on June 3rd, 10.00 am for a preliminary exam._

_Five questions, Mr. Plisetsky, and then I will decide if you can take the test with the rest of your class._

_Kind regards,  
A. Yelchin_

_P.S. I accept your apology for “losing your cool”._

 

Otabek was right. Of course he was, he always found a solution for everything, a way out when Yuri was ready to give up. He refused to write the email for him, hence the expression the professor quoted in his reply, which was Yuri’s clumsy way of saying he was sorry. It seemed enough though, because Yelchin was giving him a second chance, and that’s what mattered. When Yuri received his answer, he felt like he could breathe again, the weight on his chest lifting for a moment and he finally began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe all was not lost.

He borrowed Polina’s notes and used every free minute to read through them, studying between shifts at the pub, in his 10-minute breaks and at night, until his head dropped and his eyelids felt so heavy he couldn’t stop them from falling shut. He kept her notebook under the counter at the bar, flipping through the pages during quiet hours, texting her questions about the parts he didn’t understand, occasionally putting it down in front of Otabek, demanding that he ask him something.

He didn’t have classes anymore but studying still took up all of his time anyway, and Yuri felt like it was never going to end. He had a Marketing exam before June 3rd which he barely passed, prioritizing his meeting with Yelchin instead, and he only did a quick revision on the night prior to the test, suffering through the next day with dark circles under his eyes and way too much caffeine in his system.

His days were reduced to mathematical equations of time management, trying to decide which exam was more important than the other, how many hours he needed to prepare and how exactly he should schedule his days off work so he wouldn’t show up dead tired at school, unable to function after a late night shift.

Otabek tried to help in any way he could, revising with him, occasionally bringing food or coffee when Yuri forgot one of them, or both. He frequently chided him for neglecting vital things like eating or sleeping, reminding him that it just makes concentrating more difficult and that he needed to keep his brain in top form. Sometimes it wasn’t the best way to approach a very much sleep-deprived and stressful Yuri, who in return threw his pen at him on more than one occasion. (He was careful not to aim at this head, but at times like those, it was the only way he had the energy to respond, even if he had to ask for his pen back afterwards.)

There was only one thing Otabek did that stuck out in the midst of all this, striking Yuri as something a little more unusual. By the end of May, Otabek was a frequent guest at the pub, and Yuri offered to put his helmet in the back room where employees kept their bags and coats to keep it safe. That day, when he came back, he noticed Otabek’s hand on the counter, his clenched fist clearly hiding something. Beka turned his hand over and spread his fingers, letting Yuri see the tiny pendrive in his palm, the animal print standing out against the leather of his biker gloves.

“Is that for me?” he asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice as he picked up the pendrive. His thumb followed the tiger stripes on its side, checking it from every angle, as if he could figure out what was on it.

“You kept complaining that you can’t study without music, but the lyrics are distracting,” Beka gave a small shrug, “So I made this mix. One hour, only instrumental versions of songs you like.”

He said it like it was no big deal, and Yuri stared at him, wondering if he had misheard it over the loud pounding of his heart.

“You made this for me,” he repeated, just to clarify that it wasn’t an old one Beka found and gave him, or it wasn’t a mix made by someone else he simply downloaded because it reminded him of Yuri. 

“Yeah, I did,” Otabek nodded and his calm, stoic expression turned confused under Yuri’s bewildered look, his lips parting and his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he took in the younger man’s shocked silence. He shifted on the chair and pulled his hand back. “Um, was that wrong of me?”

“No,” Yuri replied quickly, still astonished that Beka took the time to do something like this for the sole purpose of making Yuri’s life easier, and help him focus while studying. He mentioned his problem with finding the perfect background noise, like what, twice maybe? And less than a week later he shoves a pendrive in his hand, telling him that he crafted a mix of Yuri’s favourite songs as if it was nothing? “It’s just…,” he swallowed, uncertain how to express his feelings without embarrassing himself, “man, you have a lot of freetime.”

 _Nailed it_ , Yuri thought and made a mental reminder to practice saying ‘thank you’.

“That is true,” Beka agreed, turning his gaze away from him and smiling softly at his words.

For Yuri, it seemed like Otabek hadn’t fully grasped the weight of this gift, and he continued to marvel at the fact that he just dropped it in his hands like it was something he picked up in a store. He wasn’t sure how long it took for Beka to make it, but he clearly spent a lot of time mixing Yuri’s favourite tracks and even got his hands on a pendrive with animal print on it. 

For Beka, it was nothing, but for Yuri, it was yet another reason to fall in love with him just a little bit more. 

He didn’t tell him that although the mix was truly great, he hadn’t once listened to it while studying because it was even more of a distraction for him, his thoughts wandering back to Otabek instead of focusing on the book in front of him. 

A few days and an unhealthy amount of energy drinks later Yuri aced his preliminary exam with Yelchin. The professor asked him questions about the topics he had missed but thanks to Polina and her notes, Yuri had no problem proving that he made up for the lost time and deserved a chance to take the test. He had a feeling that Yelchin took it easy on him, asking relatively general questions and Yuri’s opinion on certain matters instead of giving him a hard time, but he wasn’t going to point that out. He answered correctly to all five questions with confidence and even pretended to care about the discussion they got into, voicing his opinion and acting like he had thought about his answer. It was bullshit in his opinion but Yelchin ate it all up, so in the end it didn’t matter for him.

He went out with Misha to celebrate the success, pushing away the increasing guilt he had felt everytime he procrastinated being honest with him. He held out hope that his feelings would grow and tried to convince himself that it was going to be enough to make him forget about Otabek as anything more than his friend. It was getting harder and harder everyday to lie to them both. 

There wasn’t anything he could say to make himself feel better. He was a liar, who tricked Misha into thinking he reciprocated his feelings and was too much of a coward to tell him he didn’t. 

Misha could probably tell that something was off, but he never pressured Yuri to say or do anything he didn’t want to. They went to cafés, watched movies and ate dinner together, or just texted back and forth, checking in on Yuri before an exam, wishing him good luck and sending another message right after, asking how it went. He shared his favourite music with him and Yuri teased him for having a terrible taste, to which Misha shot back a comment on his fashion sense. 

Yuri enjoyed his company, he liked and envied the feeling of ease he moved around in the world with, careless and free, unbroken in a way Yuri would never be anymore. Misha’s soul was intact, spared from the greyness Yuri saw surrounding them, rich with the softest colours. Yuri couldn’t help but think that he brought the grey in his life, and it lingered behind his back like a shadow, impossible to avoid, waiting to catch up to him, given enough time.

It only became worse when Misha’s fingers found his during their walks, linking them together, thumb brushing lightly against the skin on the back of his hand, or when he tucked a stray lock of blonde hair behind his ear. When he looked at Yuri with eyes shining bright like he’s seeing the world for the first time, and Yuri couldn’t return the feeling so he glanced down instead, masking the truth behind his lashes. It was the worst when Misha reached out to cup his chin and lift his head, planting a soft kiss on his lips, and Yuri pressed back, wanting to feel what he knew he should, chasing emotions but unable to capture them.

Those were the moments Yuri remembered how Misha said there was no point in doing anything half-hearted. He could feel it, Misha’s wish for more, his silent plea as he kissed him, it was there in the feather-light touches and the way he wrapped his arms around Yuri, asking without speaking the words. He never said those words, instead he settled for whatever Yuri was willing to give him.

And Yuri wanted, tried, pushed himself but he couldn’t force those feelings into existence, not with Otabek always on his mind, taking up all the space with nothing to spare to anyone else in his life. He knew it wasn’t fair to Misha, that he should let go of him, but he still couldn’t give up fighting against his feelings.

 

A whole month flew by like this and before he knew it, Yuri was preparing for his last exam. Macroeconomics had him on edge, not only because he hated the subject, but because he’d heard from others what kind of tests the professor gave them in previous years, and he knew it was going to be extra hard to pass. He tried to study with Polina but it didn’t really work, the two of them got distracted constantly and Yuri ended up listening to stories about Tatiana, or discussing some movie they had seen. He had absolutely no idea about Macroeconomics, but at least they put together a solid drinking game for the next Star Trek marathon.

Yuri decided to take more time off work and he asked for three whole days before the exam. He was getting more tired, having stressed over his studies for the last month, and he noticed that it was becoming more difficult to focus, his eyelids falling shut after an hour, desperate for a nap in the middle of the afternoon. He was exhausted, but he convinced himself that he only needed one more push before it was all over. The thought of having two months off, and the promise of a vacation in Hasetsu kept him going as he spent his days reading until the letters got blurry and he couldn’t think anymore.

He sent a message to Misha, letting him know that he would be unavailable for the next three days, being holed up in his apartment with his phone turned off. He promised he would call him after his exam and Misha wished him luck before Yuri put his phone away, turning on the airplane mode to avoid unnecessary distractions.

He yanked out his notes from his backpack and dropped them on his desk, mentally preparing himself for the longest three days of his life. He had more than enough coffee to last for a week, and he sat down, gripping his mug, praying it would work its magic and help him stay awake and actually process the words in front him. 

God, he hated Macroeconomics.

Two hours later he was wandering around the flat with no reason, opening doors and checking the almost empty fridge. He poured himself another coffee and stopped at the window, staring at the afternoon traffic jam with a blank face before he sat back down to his desk, yawning. 

Three hours later he caught himself eyeing the box under his bed, hiding his old playstation he rarely ever used anymore. He had a small tv in his living room, and he suddenly felt the urge to dig up his favourite games for another playthrough. He had read somewhere online that if he sat on enough chairs in Skyrim he would get a surprise side quest, but back then he didn’t care, he was too preoccupied with the main storyline to keep sitting down everywhere. 

He picked up his book and moved to the kitchen to resist the temptation. 

Six hours in he started to get hungry and he went to his laptop to order take out. He hadn’t meant to watch funny Vine-compilations on Youtube and he told himself he would only do it until his food arrived. Half an hour later he realized he hadn’t even ordered anything. 

He went to sleep eight hours later, after lying face down on the floor for a few minutes, wondering who invented cheese and more importantly, why. It was just a side note in the book, used as an example for something he didn’t understand, and he got distracted again, his mind wondering about the secrets of cheese. He gave up soon after, and before he fell asleep, he listened to Otabek’s mix again, promising that tomorrow would be different.

It wasn’t like he didn’t study at all, but he certainly spent more time doing something else, and his subconscious woke him up at five am the next day, the knot in his stomach reminding him that he still had more than half of the notes to go through. 

He pulled the book in his lap, scattering the notes around himself on the bed, not having the energy to even get out from under the covers, and he started reading at the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand. It was easier in the morning, his brain was too sleepy to focus on anything else, but he couldn’t recall a single thing from the previous day. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he suddenly felt dizzy and weak, and he realized that not only had he forgot to order food last night, he didn’t eat anything else after. 

He gathered everything and dropped his stuff on the couch, going to the kitchen to find something edible. The only thing he found was some cereal in one of the cupboards. He didn’t have any milk for it, so he ate it right out of the box while he continued to read and tried to repeat the information out loud to make sure he remembered it. 

He started yawning again after a while, and as he laid on his stomach, he dropped his head on the notes, groaning loudly. That’s when he heard the knock on his door and he groaned again, not moving a finger to get up from the couch. 

It was probably the mailman, or a neighbour to borrow eggs or batteries or whatever. He didn’t have any eggs, and he never understood this habit anyway, going door to door when they could easily walk to the store themselves and get their own eggs. There was another impatient knock, and he raised his head, sending murderous looks in the direction of whoever was on the other side.

For a few seconds it was quiet outside, and Yuri thought about the possibility of him developing superpowers and actually killing the unwanted visitor, when he heard the knock again, this time, calling his name too.

“Yuri! If you’re home, please open the door.”

He practically jumped up right at the moment he recognized Otabek’s voice and he hurried to let him in. 

“What are you doing here?” He moved out of the way and Otabek stepped into the apartment, staying at the door and looking around before he spoke.

“Am I interrupting anything important?” His eyes settled on Yuri, taking in his messy hair, his braid which got tangled up from not brushing it in the last two days. Yuri suddenly became aware that he was still in his pyjamas, and he pulled his pants up a bit that hung too low on his hips. He also tried to fix his t-shirt before he remembered that he was wearing his favourite white crop top with the tiger on it. It didn’t leave much to imagination, exposing his stomach and his hips, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it so he gave up, turning away and making his way back to the couch. 

“Just studying,” he gave a shrug and pulled his braid over his shoulder brushing it down to at least try and make it look like it was messy on purpose. “Why?”

“I tried to call you but your phone’s off.”

“Yeah, so I wouldn’t…,” he couldn’t stop the yawn that interrupted his sentence and he stretched, raising both arms above his head. God, he was so tired, he hadn’t talked to anyone in more than a day and hadn’t even been outside. He needed a break. He felt his top ride up even higher on his chest and he dropped his hands. “...so I wouldn’t be disturbed by people who then come here and kick my door in.”

He turned back to say something else, but his breath hitched in his throat when he saw Otabek, his eyes glued to a point on Yuri’s waist, a faint blush sitting on his cheekbones. He jerked his head up a moment too late and Yuri thought his sleep deprivation must have made him see things because Otabek looked like he got caught, his deep, dark eyes filled with guilt as he averted them, looking anywhere but at him. His Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed and Yuri followed the movement, his lips parting slightly only to close them again, unable to find the words that escaped his mind. 

“I was worried,” Beka said, and he let out a long breath before he looked back at him, the expression on his face gone like it had never even been there. “How is it going?”

“Amazingly well,” Yuri replied dryly. “I hate myself and I want to set my book on fire.”

Otabek huffed and stepped away from the door, putting his helmet down on the small table in front of the couch. Just like last time, he moved around the flat like he belonged there, and Yuri couldn’t help but stare at his back as he picked up his mug, checking its contents.

“Have you had anything else beside coffee?”

“Uh…”

“How about lunch?”

“Lunch?” Yuri frowned. “I’ve just had breakfast in the morning.”

Otabek turned to look at him, his expression concerned, and he tilted his head slightly.

“When was that?”

“I don’t know, Beka,” Yuri rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going and he blinked sleepily, leaning against the kitchen counter with his hips. “Two, maybe three hours ago I guess?”

“Okay,” Otabek nodded and he stepped closer, lifting a finger to point it at him. “You need some fresh air. Get dressed, you’re coming with me.”

Yuri didn’t have to be told twice. He was waiting for an excuse to get out of the apartment and as much as he worried about his exam, at the moment he couldn’t care less if he was going to fail or not. He felt like if he had to spend another hour within the same four walls he was going to murder someone. 

“Where are we going?” he inquired with excitement but Beka only shook his head, the ghost of a smile playing in the corner of his lips.

“You’ll see. Bring your notes.”

Yuri got ready in record time, putting on his favourite black jeans with a dark blue hoodie. He got rid of the braid and pulled his hair in a low ponytail, expecting that he was going to wear a helmet too. After he gathered all his notes and his book in his backpack, he grabbed his jacket and immediately started tapping with his feet.

“Let’s go,” he ordered, before he remembered something, “no, wait here.”

He all but ran back to his room and returned almost immediately, not missing the way Otabek cast his eyes down and smiled when he saw what he was holding.

“Now I’m ready,” he said and he put on the fingerless gloves Beka gave him a few weeks ago. 

The motorcycle was parked right in front of the building, and Yuri walked up to it like he was about to greet another old friend. It wasn’t the same bike, Beka had sold that and bought this when he moved to Saint Petersburg, but Yuri knew nothing about motorcycles and for him, it was just like the old one. He said this out loud too, and laughed when Otabek frowned and started to object, listing all the things that made this one better. He rarely ever talked this much, and Yuri smiled as he went on and on about the specifics, telling him numbers that didn’t mean anything to him. He nodded along and tried his best to look impressed but Beka recognized that he was mocking him. 

His sarcastic attitude vanished without a trace when Otabek stepped closer to him and brushed his hair out of his forehead. He reached behind him to tighten his ponytail, his fingers brushing against his neck, and he picked up the helmet, putting it on for him. Yuri automatically lifted his head, and Otabek fastened the belt under his chin. When he was done, he knocked on the helmet twice with a playful smile and sat on the bike, putting on his own.

“Are you coming or not?”

Yuri stepped up and swung his right leg over the seat, putting his arms tentatively around Otabek’s waist. He gripped the leather jacket tightly between his fingers and drew in a breath, feeling the same exhilaration in his chest like a bubble, filling him up as it always did when he went for a ride with his friend. Otabek started up the engine, the steady beat making Yuri’s heart race, and he felt a hand on his own where he held onto him tightly. 

“Ready?” Beka turned back to him and waited for Yuri to nod and give a thumbs up before he closed his helmet. He pulled his feet up onto the pegs as the bike accelerated slowly, and Yuri wrapped his arms around him as they left his street behind. 

It hit him just how much he missed this feeling, the strong wind catching his hair and sneak under his skin, adrenaline pumping in his veins as they sped up, shapes and colours around him blending together, escaping his view as the world narrowed down to the two of them on the bike, the only thing constant is the roaming of the engine and the touch of leather in his fists. He leaned to his side perfectly in snych with Otabek, just as he taught him years ago. 

He kept his arms steady around Beka’s waist, careful not to tighten his hold too much and give the impression that he was signaling him to stop, and closed his eyes, picturing the roads of Barcelona in his mind, his memories taking him back to the first time he sat behind Otabek.

It was the first time someone had chosen him as an equal friend. The first time someone saw something in him other than the talented teenager with the bad attitude. Otabek saw him as the fighter he was, the hardworking athlete who hated losing and he told him they were alike. Yuri didn’t understand it back then, because he didn’t know the Kazakh man, but Beka was right. They were both soldiers, the ice was their battlefield and they both went out with something to prove, willing to give everything to it, body, mind and soul, with tears and blood if that’s what it took.

Yuri wondered what Otabek saw in his eyes now, years after the soldier lost his battles and stopped fighting. 

Maybe, he thought, just maybe there was a time when he could have been honest with him, telling him how he felt and it would have ended well. He longed for those days, wanted to go back in time and turn his life around, just to see what would have happened. 

Maybe he would still skate because if Otabek had been there, he would have noticed that Yuri was hiding something, he would have known that he wasn’t ready to go back to competing. Maybe the first injury wouldn’t have happened at all, because Beka would have been there for him when he learnt about his grandpa’s condition, helping and supporting him so he wouldn’t have to go through it alone. 

It didn’t really matter in the end. Yuri had missed his chance and he was never going to get another one. Too much time had passed, too many things happened, too many words were left unsaid. 

He felt a few tears in the corner of his eyes and he started shivering, trying to hold them back. He couldn’t cry, not now, not right there on the motorcycle. He felt a single wet streak on his cheek, making his way towards his neck and he tapped on the leather jacket impatiently, signaling that he wanted to stop. 

The moment Otabek parked the bike, Yuri jumped off. His hands flew up to the belt under his chin and he pulled on it, desperate to take the helmet off, tugging and yanking.

“Stop, stop, I’ll help,” Otabek pushed his hand out of the way and Yuri heard the soft click as he got free. He lifted the helmet and left it in Beka’s hands, then spun around his heels to furiously wipe his tears away and took off in the direction of the nearby park. 

He spotted a few people walking around, mostly families with little children and couples who looked his age. He took deep breaths in and out, trying not to look like he just panicked about three teardrops and ran away from his friend, and he started walking across the field, rubbing his eyes with a shaking hand.

Beka caught up to him quickly and he stepped in front of him. His fingers curled around Yuri’s wrist, gently pulling his hand away from his face so he could see him.

“Yuri, wait,” He cupped his cheek with his other hand and searched for his eyes. “God, what happened?” 

He sounded scared, and Yuri felt even worse, knowing that his ridiculous reaction caused it. He couldn’t bear the thought of a few tears and he made the situation worse. “Yura, did I scare you?”

Otabek cupped his face in both hands, caressing his skin softly with his thumb, speaking to him in a low voice.

“Yura,” he said his name again and Yuri breathed in and out deeply, keeping his eyes closed. “Was I too fast? Do you want me to call a cab instead?”

“No, no,” Yuri shook his head, blinking and returning the gaze to show that he was fine, “I’m okay, I’m good, I promise.”

“Like hell you are,” Otabek drew his eyebrows together, but he let go of him, standing still in the middle of the narrow sidewalk. Yuri saw the people passing by noticing them, some openly staring, a few of them just watching from the corner of their eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I have to study,” he said, “can we go?”

“You can’t sit back on the bike in this state,” Beka replied and he put his arm around Yuri, leading him down on the road towards the centre of the park. “Let’s just take a walk, okay? Twenty minutes, please.”

Yuri made a face, but let himself be led, and they walked around in silence for a while. He found it boring. He wanted to move on and forget that this ever happened, but everytime he made an attempt to convince Beka he was good to go, he only got an ‘okay’ in return and they kept walking anyway. When Otabek let go of his shoulder, Yuri resisted the urge to move closer to him, and hid his hands in his pockets to avoid doing something embarrassing. He couldn’t help but think about how much he would enjoy this if he could just grab Beka’s hand and hold it, and immediately scolded himself for acting like a lovesick puppy. 

Maybe he was older, maybe he was in love, but he wasn’t going to become a sappy romantic. Especially with his feelings unrequited, there was no point in making things more difficult for himself. Not when he had a tendency to get emotional in the most unexpected situations. He had already gone too far sometimes with the casual touches, each one leaving a burning spot on the tips of his fingertips, craving for more, and it was getting harder and harder everytime to stop himself from reaching out to Otabek, to run his fingers down on his skin, to bury them in his hair, pulling him closer until there was no going back, no excuse, no other explanation to offer but the truth.

He was watching a group of teenagers further away when Otabek bumped their shoulders together, and he turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Better?”

“Yes, better. Have been for the past fifteen minutes, can we go now?”

Beka answered with an amused smile and his hand was on Yuri’s back now, leading him down on a smaller, less crowded trail on their right, making their way back to the road. 

“Is it really that boring?”

“Well, when you could be riding a motorcycle then yes, it is,” Yuri scrunched his nose, “you and I, we’re not really nature-people.”

Otabek laughed quietly then stepped in front of him again, walking backwards as he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Oh, do tell, then,” he said, “what kind of people are we?”

“You’re a DJ, who rides a motorbike and wears leather all the time,” Yuri replied, trying to ignore the way his stomach jumped at the sight of Otabek’s mischievous smile “and I’m… you know” he faltered, unsure of how to continue.

He couldn’t really say what kind of person he was, not anymore. A few years ago he would have replied with something along the lines of “figure skating genius and social media addict”, but neither had been present in his life in a while. He could barely bring himself to talk about skating and he still avoided most of his social media sites so he wouldn’t have to deal with fans, Yuri’s Angels who never gave up hope. They still showered him with messages, questions, well-wishes, and kept hanging around to catch a glimpse of Yuri whenever it was possible. Who was he without these things? 

Otabek noticed the change in his voice and he let him leave the sentence unfinished. Yuri on the other hand felt the need to say something, to fill the silence around them, so they could move on from the awkwardness of his answer, and he brought up the first thing that came to his mind.

“I’m going to Hasetsu next week, did I tell you that?” 

“To Viktor and Yuuri?” He nodded, and then almost tripped over a branch when Beka spoke again, asking a question he definitely didn’t expect. “Are you taking your boyfriend?”

“My _what_?” He burst out laughing but it quickly died on his lips, eyes widening when he realized who Otabek was talking about. “Misha’s not my boyfriend!”

“Are you… not dating him anymore?” Beka seemed confused, his careful question only making Yuri want to object even more vehemently.

“No! I mean, yes, we go on dates, but we’re not… it’s not…” he sighed, frustrated that he found himself at a loss for words, unable to explain what he wanted to express, “we never really… established anything. God, I met him like a month ago, I’m not gonna take the guy to Japan.”

Beka was watching him with a funny expression, that Yuri translated as ‘I’m not sure I believe you’.

“We’re not a couple,” he told him again, “do you want me to tell you in kazakh or something?”

“Fine, fine,” Otabek raised his hands in defense and turned back around to face where he was going. Yuri caught up to him with two quick steps, narrowing his eyes as he watched his friend’s small smile. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, which was clearly a lie but Yuri decided not to push him. It wasn’t like he really wanted to talk about his definitely-not-a-relationship with Misha, so he was more than happy to let it go. “I’m glad you’re still friends with Viktor.”

“Yeah well, it’s hard to get rid of the old sap,” Yuri muttered, trying not to make it too obvious that he was staring at his feet. Otabek was by his side again, watching him closely, and he had to look away, instead of returning the gaze, afraid that he would reveal something he didn’t mean to reveal. 

Beka was too close, and he swung his arm around Yuri’s shoulder again as they left the park, the casual touch making his breath hitch in his throat. It would have been so easy and comfortable to pull him even closer, to respond by putting his own arm around Beka’s waist, and he willed himself to stay as he was, hands safely hidden in his pockets, avoiding the dark eyes that could see into his soul. He wanted nothing more than to press against him and taste his lips, feel his skin under his fingers, and he felt like his whole body was aching for more as Otabek tortured him with the casual touches, never enough, never the ones he wanted.

They stopped at the bike and Beka turned to face him, his eyes serious and caring, trying to read Yuri’s mind. 

“Now, for real, are you feeling better?”

“Yes, I am,” Yuri replied, and to his surprise he was telling the truth. He did feel better, more relaxed than he thought he would. “Thanks, tree-hugger.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“School-stuff,” Yuri shrugged, and for the first time that year, he was grateful for being a university student, which provided him with the perfect excuse for his freak-out, “I just want this exam to be done so I can forget about the whole thing.”

Beka hummed, taking Yuri’s helmet and just like last time, he reached out to brush his hair out of the way, his fingers lingering at his cheekbone for a moment. Yuri glanced away, feeling the start of a soft blush spreading on his face, silently praying that it would disappear before Beka catches on.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Otabek said, putting the helmet on his head, leaving the glass open so they could talk while he fiddled with the belt under his chin, “I mean, I was thinking, maybe you could study at my place. A different environment might be helpful and I could make us some food in the meantime?”

“Uh…” This was a horrible, horrible idea. There was no way he would survive that without getting himself into even deeper trouble that he was already in. The whole day had already been too much, with Otabek fussing over him all the time, taking him on a ride, walking in the park, with light touches and fond smiles and that ridiculously deep, caring voice that made Yuri fall in love everytime he so much as mentioned the weather. It was bound to end badly for him. 

“Yura?” 

But Beka was looking at him with those beautiful eyes and the wind messed up his hair so it stuck out in every way, giving him that boyish look Yuri could never say no to, and he called him Yura, with that last syllable that always destroyed his defenses and made him very, very weak.

“Okay, I guess.”

God, he had it really bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading it! 
> 
> I'm gonna be away for the next week, I'm going on a vacation with my mom on friday. She's so excited, and we've never been anywhere just the two of us, so I can't wait either. But that means the next part will be up in idk, two weeks maybe? I won't have my laptop but i'm taking a notebook and start working on the chapter nonetheless. 
> 
> There is a certain issue about Otabek and Yuri's relationship that I've been dying to address, and we will finally deal with it in chapter 7. Also, Yuri is being horrible in this whole thing with Misha, but he's human and he is in no way perfect. He has more issues than Vogue (please forgive me for this t-shirt quote, I couldn't resist). We're getting closer to dealing with that too. In the meantime, thank you so much for your patience, and all the feedback, it means the world to me!


	7. Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _On his way out, he sent a satisfied grin to Polina who was silently trying to send him some kind of message he didn’t understand, by waving her hand and mouthing way too many words for a conversation like that. He pulled his phone out from his backpack when he was outside, turning off the airplane mode after three days of radio silence, and started to type a text to Polina, inviting her to get super drunk to celebrate their last exam and to say goodbye before he flew to Japan in a few days._
> 
>  
> 
> _His message was interrupted by an ocean of notifications, and he frowned as he went through them. Mostly there were calls, from people who he rarely talked to anymore, and the sinking feeling in his stomach told him that something must have happened, because there was no way they would all randomly decide to contact him at the same time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with part 7!! I'm so excited about this one, I can't wait to see what you guys think about it, i'm really, really nervous! Thank you for all the support, it means the world to me, and you all encourage me to be more confident in my writing, and i will forever be grateful for that.
> 
> Okay, I guess there's nothing else to say, except i hope you all enjoy this chapter, and if there's anything you'd like to share, parts you liked or hated, please leave a comment <3

Yuri was right when he thought it was going to be an insanely hard task to keep himself in check at Otabek’s place, spending the whole afternoon and evening there. He did his best to focus on studying, and he only wasted the first hour walking around, examining the apartment, checking out every little detail to find out more about his friend, how he lived, and how he spent his days there. It was nice to see him where he was the second most comfortable (the first one being the ice rink, he guessed) and Yuri did his best to earn a full-body laugh for himself when he made fun of Beka by narrating everything he did like it was a documentary.

“And here we can observe,” he said, pretending to sneak up behind him, holding an imaginary camera, “the one and only Otabek Altin in his natural habitat.”

“Yeah, I’m sure people are _very_ interested in my kitchen,” Beka commented while he moved around with ease, grabbing ingredients for the lunch he had promised Yuri earlier.

“You underestimate the power of your fandom,” Yuri replied, knowing that Otabek had his fair share of fans, most of whom would probably be swooning over a picture like this, their favourite athlete without the glamour of the figure skating costume, standing in nothing but dark blue jeans and a tight black t-shirt, holding a tomato. “Maybe I’ll make a youtube channel and get rich filming your life.”

“That’s likely,” Otabek mocked him but he went on about his business, letting Yuri follow him around. Yuri decided not to reply, because he was very close to admit that he would actually pay for something like that, and he probably wasn’t the only one. 

“The Kazakh figure skater named Otabek Altin can be grumpy if we disturb him when he is preparing his meal,” Yuri continued as he went around the table to stand in front of Beka. He acted like he hadn’t even noticed Yuri, and he stepped closer, pretending to zoom in on his face. “See? It looks like he is having fun, but don’t be fooled by his expression. This is only well-masked annoyance.”

Otabek pressed his lips together, desperately fighting the smile that wanted to appear on his face, but his shoulders were shaking as he tried to repress his laughter. 

“Disturbing his peace at a time like this is a dangerous assignment but I’m not one to shy away from a challenge,” Yuri went on, drawing his hands back, “although we will try not to interfere much, because he is holding a knife.” Beka continued to pretend Yuri wasn’t even there, keeping his eyes on the kitchen counter, but his smile was undeniable, and Yuri stopped for the shortest second to drink in the picture, his eyes lingering on Beka’s profile, waiting for him to laugh. 

He held it together, but this was the next best thing, Yuri decided as he watched him trying to pay attention to what he was doing. The amusement in his eyes betrayed him though, and he bit his lower lip to stop his smile from spreading wide. Yuri lowered his hands and took a moment to collect himself, grateful that Otabek hadn’t caught him staring. He had a whole arsenal of words he could describe Beka with, serious, stoic, mischievous, deep and dark and beautiful, but right now he was simply _cute_ , with fondness glinting in his eyes and the smallest of dimples on his cheeks as he bit back his laughter. 

Yuri decided to push things just a little bit further and he turned away, ‘recording’ the kitchen with the invisible camera he was forming with his hands.

“Now let’s take a closer look at his surroundings. As you can see, he keeps the tools vital to his survival in these bottom drawers,” he saw Beka’s hands slow down, turning his head slightly to listen to him, and he smirked before he delivered his punchline. “He’s probably doing this because he can’t reach the top shelves.”

That apparently did it. Otabek burst out laughing with an unattractive snort, and he leaned forward above the counter, closing his eyes before he pushed himself away from it, turning to Yuri with a hand on his heart, acting like he was offended.

“Wow,” he shook his head, taking two quick steps towards him, and Yuri dropped his hands, backing away until he felt his lower back hitting the drawers behind him. Otabek was suddenly dangerously close, his eyes locked on him, and Yuri couldn’t bear the intensity of it. He raised his head, watching a longer strand of black hair falling over Beka’s eyebrow, before he clenched his jaw and returned the gaze, accepting the challenge. Beka’s eyes were fixed on his, dark, firm, piercing a fiery hole into Yuri’s heart, and he felt like his throat was tight and sore as he tried to control his breathing. When Otabek spoke, his voice was low and teasing, sending a shiver up his spine. “You are very smug about that one inch difference you have over me.”

He frantically tried to come up with an answer, but the sudden change of the situation had him speechless, his fingers gripping the edge of the cabinet behind his back. He didn’t know if Otabek was even aware of how close they were, with their noses almost touching, or if he noticed the heat radiating between their bodies, like Yuri did. He desperately tried to avoid glancing at Beka’s lips as he kept his eyes on him, refusing to give in. His face felt hot and he hoped he wasn’t blushing as they watched each other for what seemed like an eternity. 

In reality it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but Yuri’s self-control slowly started slipping away when he felt the ghost of Beka’s breath on his lips. He threw his hands up, ignoring the way his fingers were trembling and formed a camera again, almost hitting Beka’s nose as he used it to put some distance between them. 

“Note to self,” he said, his voice cracking as he forced it to work again, “height is a sensitive issue, best not to mention it if you want him to cook lunch for you.”

Beka huffed, and the moment was gone. He took a step back and dropped his shoulders, his expression softening into a fond half-smile as he cleared his throat, turning away. He didn't say anything.

“You have a balcony,” Yuri rushed to announce when he noticed the glass doors on the right, leading to a small platform outside, “I’m gonna go study there.” He all but ran away from the kitchen counter, picking up his backpack from the ground where he dropped it.

“You should take a jacket,” Beka commented with his back turned to him, his posture and attitude now transformed back to his usual one, caring and familiar, calm like a steady rainfall complement to the storm inside Yuri. He looked around, his eyes settling on the leather jacket draped over the back of a chair at the kitchen table, and before he could change his mind, he picked it up, folding it over his left arm carefully. 

Otabek didn’t look at him at all, turning his attention back to the vegetables in front of him, keeping his eyes down. Yuri remained standing at the table for a few seconds, unsure of what it was he was waiting for, but nothing happened. The moment was well and truly gone, and Beka ignored him. 

Yuri took his jacket without asking, putting it on as he stepped outside to the balcony, dropping himself into one of the two chairs there. It was a bit loose on his shoulders but otherwise fit him, and he pulled his notes into his lap with a sigh. He was already tired just from thinking about his exam tomorrow, but he couldn’t deny that the change of scenery helped, the fresh air, the walk in the park and the different apartment clearing his mind a little like Beka said it would. He felt like his brain got a reboot and he started reading, quickly getting lost in the pages of his book. 

There was a small part of him that stayed behind, hyper-aware of his surroundings, the fact that he was in Otabek’s flat, that he was wearing his jacket, how it smelled just like him, how small and safe he felt in it and how his blonde hair looked like against the rough black leather, but all in all, he had a more productive afternoon than anytime in the previous week.

He read through his notes twice, trying to recite things silently, and found that he actually remembered more than he thought. Maybe his subconscious did pick up some things after all, between the various ways of procrastination he invented in the past two days, and so he closed the book with a satisfied smile, going back inside and dropping it on the table.

“I deserve a break,” he said.

“That was fast.” He heard Beka’s voice from behind his back as he put his notes away for now, promising himself that he would check them once again in the afternoon.

“Well I’m a smart person.” A strange silence followed Yuri’s words, and he turned around, curious about the lack of response. Otabek was watching him - no, not him, Yuri noted, he was watching the leather jacket on him with an unreadable expression, his lips parting slightly as he drew in a deep breath, eyes fixed on somewhere below Yuri’s neck, and he seemed to be taken aback. Yuri realized that he didn’t exactly ask for permission to take the jacket and shifted uncomfortably under Beka’s gaze. “Sorry about this,” he waved a hand at himself vaguely, “I just grabbed it, I didn’t think…”

Otabek didn’t answer, and Yuri started wondering what his problem was. Was he that sensitive about someone taking his jacket? Did he mess things up somehow? He was just too lazy to go and look for his own coat, he didn’t mean to step over any boundaries Beka might have had about this.

“I’ll take it off,” he said, rolling his eyes to lighten the mood a little, when Beka’s voice quickly interrupted him.

“Don’t.” Yuri froze and jerked his head up to look at him. He didn’t miss the way Otabek’s eyes widened slightly for a second before he knitted his brows, averting his eyes, looking a bit unsettled. “I mean, it’s fine. You can wear it. I don’t mind.”

“Whatever, weirdo.” Yuri took off the jacket nonetheless, putting it over the back of the same chair he picked it up from, smoothing down the leather a little bit before he spoke again. “Aren’t you going to give me a tour?”

“I can’t leave this,” Beka replied, referring to the food on the stove, “but feel free to take a look around.”

“Really?” Yuri raised an eyebrow, feeling the comfortable atmosphere around them once again, making him bolder. “I’m gonna discover all your secrets,” he tilted his head in a challenging way, but Beka only chuckled in response.

“I don’t keep secrets from you,” he said, “I’m an open book.”

“Right,” Yuri made a face, a sarcastic smile appearing, “all blank pages, written with invisible ink or something.”

He didn’t stick around to wait for a reply and instead made his way to the back of the apartment, opening doors and peeking inside everywhere. Otabek had a perfectly normal flat, where everything had its place and things were in order. He scoffed at the adultness of it, Beka’s responsible and ‘old man’ side leaving its mark on the spotless shelves and the vinyls placed in alphabetical order. He smiled at the comforting familiarity of it until the afternoon sunlight drew his attention to another shelf at the far end of the bedroom, its golden gleam making Beka’s medal collection shine brightly in the corner. 

He stepped closer to examine them, and his eyes grew wide at the sight of the olympic silver he hadn’t even known about. There was a gold medal from Worlds hung right next to it from the same year, and two others from Four Continents and the Grand Prix Final in the following season, among several bronze and silver medals won at various competitions. 

Shame crept up on him slowly, spreading in his chest as he realized he had no idea about any of it. The Olympics were held in the first season he had to miss due to his broken hip, and he did his best to avoid any news of it, especially anything regarding Otabek. It was too painful, and he never even stopped to think about how selfish it was of him. Beka was apparently an olympic silver medalist and not only had he not known who beat him to the gold, he hadn’t even seen any of his programs. 

It would have been too awkward to ask now, but Yuri made a silent promise that he would get over himself and watch Beka’s performances from the years he had missed. He felt confident that after visiting him at the rink and watching him training with kids, helping him by checking video recordings of his skaters, he was now strong enough to sit through Otabek’s own programs without getting too emotional. 

He moved on from the medals and reached out to pick up the only other thing on the shelf, hugging it gently to his chest. He sat down on the floor, with his back against the bed, holding the teddy bear carefully. Now this was familiar, this one he knew well enough. He smoothed down the soft fabric of the bear’s loosely sewn t-shirt and pulled his knees up to prop it up against his legs.

He heard footsteps behind him, slowing down and stopping when they reached the door, and he spoke without turning around.

“I can’t believe you kept this stupid thing,” he muttered, looking up at Otabek who came around the bed to join him on the floor. He seemed offended and frowned, lifting his elbow to poke at Yuri’s arm.

“Tiger isn’t stupid, don’t say that.” His reply made Yuri snort because this too, was the rarely seen cute side of Beka, saying something so ridiculous with such a serious face. “And of course I kept him. Why, you didn’t…?”

“No, I did,” Yuri said quickly. He didn’t want Beka to think even for a moment that he threw his own stuffed animal away. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t get rid of the last reminder of his friendship with him, no matter how many times he stood holding the small tiger, preparing to put it in a trashcan and forget about it. He changed his mind every time, the thought of treating it like garbage making him sick to his stomach. “Bear is probably the only thing I held onto from my, you know, pre-injury life.”

And from their friendship, but he decided not to mention that, the guilt already growing inside him, infecting his body and his mind. He thought the words tasted bitter on his tongue, and he hoped Beka hadn’t noticed that. 

It wasn’t only important because it was from him. They exchanged a lot of gifts during those few years they spent as best friends, not only for every birthday but also on those rare occasions when they met up during a competition, or one of them visited the other over their off-season break. 

The tiger called Bear was different because Yuri got it from Beka when he’d last seen him in person. He remembered it clearly, too clearly for someone so keen on forgetting. 

They decided to visit the music festival held during that time in Almaty, and they spent the whole day there, walking around the Abai Square, buying useless souvenirs and listening to the strange folk music Yuri could never decide if he liked it or not. He remembered the midday sun burning on his neck, and how it hugged Otabek, making his warm brown skin glowing like some kind of god’s. He remembered how he saw Beka as someone perfect and untouchable like a sculpture, and how his young and inexperienced heart burst with the sea of emotions he felt when he looked at him.

He remembered it too clearly, how Beka caught his hand once so they wouldn’t lose each other in the crowd, and Yuri was drunk with love, his teenage crush on Otabek growing bigger than the whole wide world, making him light-headed and miserable at the same time. He hurt in ways he didn’t know he could hurt, as he watched him acting like a perfectly normal best friend around him, confident and relaxed, not nearly as nervous and on edge Yuri himself felt when he was near him. 

He remembered how he stared at their entwined fingers, clutching onto Otabek in fear of losing him, and how he realized that maybe he should let go. 

That day at the festival, they bought two stuffed animals, a tiger named Bear and a bear named Tiger, and a few days later Yuri flew back home with unshed tears in his eyes and a decision that changed his life.

He talked to Otabek a few more times after that, their conversations cut short by some lame excuse Yuri made up, the silence between each phone call stretching longer and longer, until he got tired of it and ended them completely. 

Pictures and phone numbers got deleted, birthday gifts got thrown out but Bear ended up safely stashed away in his wardrobe, out of his sight but close to him anyway.

“What happened to your medals?” Beka asked suddenly, leaning closer to fiddle with one of the teddy bear’s ears.

“I sent them all to Colorado to that figure skating museum there,” Yuri said, returning his attention to the present. “Not my costumes though, I left those to Yakov so he could give them to other skaters.”

“Oh, I know _that_ ,” Otabek huffed, “Imagine my face when some kid showed up wearing your Agape costume.”

“Wow, that’s an old one. But it’s technically Viktor’s.” Yuri absent-mindedly toyed with the bear, keeping his hands busy so he wouldn’t completely focus on how close they were once again, Beka’s thigh lightly touching his, their arms pressed together. The feeling of ‘too much, and not enough’ was back again, sitting heavily on his chest, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to run far away or scoot closer to rest his head on his shoulder, having Otabek wrap his arms around him.

“No, I think you made it yours,” as if he was reading his mind, Beka leaned away, only to raise his right arm and put it around Yuri’s back, pulling him closer. “And it’ll always be yours.”

Yuri eased into the embrace, leaning against his side with a content sigh, slightly distracted by the feeling of Otabek’s fingertips running up and down on his arm in a soothing way. He didn’t have the strength and the energy to run away, not this time. 

For the first time since they met again, Yuri thought he could get used to being only Beka’s friend and nothing more. He wasn’t as dramatic about his feelings as he once had been, and his love for Beka became something like an old friend in itself, a part of his personality that he would never be able to leave behind, no matter how many years pass without seeing him. 

His past self was an all-or-nothing person, and when faced with the risk of nothing, he fled, unwilling to accept anything less than everything. That Yuri Plisetsky thought any placement below the top of the podium was as good as the last, and he vehemently rejected the idea of settling for less than what he wanted, whether it came to skating, family or his relationship with Otabek. 

His present was distinctly different from that, and as he sat there with Beka’s arm around his shoulder, pressed to his side, he realized that he didn’t want to lose him again. He couldn’t lose him again, even if it meant pining for the perfect and untouchable for the rest of his days, someone who was well within reach but would never become his.

Maybe it was always meant to happen this way, and he just had to get used to it. 20-year-old Yuri couldn’t, but he could, after everything he went through in the last few years, the constant ache was nothing he couldn’t handle. 

Otabek gently rubbed his arm, tilting his head to catch his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

Yuri thought about his answer for a moment, trying to decide if he was okay or not. Did accepting a sad excuse of a life count as okay? Was he fine after realizing that he would probably never be as happy as most people around him, like Viktor and Yuuri, or Mila in Italy with Sara?

“Yeah, I think so,” he replied, and he almost believed it to be true.

“You know, you’re too young to belong in a museum,” Otabek said with a soft smile, resting his head on top of his.

“No, I’m not,” Yuri’s voice was quiet but firm, “Beka, I’m history.”

“Fine,” he turned his head, and Yuri felt his breath in his hair as he spoke, “but don’t say it like it’s a bad thing, Yura.”

He moved to stand, extending his hand, helping Yuri up too.

“Come on, let’s eat.”

 

They had lunch in comfortable silence and after that, Yuri went back to his notes again, his heart heavier and his mind more distracted than before. He forced himself to focus on his exam, but his brain wandered, went to places he hadn’t visited in years, memories he tried to bury as deep as possible. His skin felt cold and he wondered if there was such a thing as touch-deprivation and how it felt to live like that, always waiting for the next one, hungry for a hug or just the slow caress of fingertips on his arms, treasuring each one because they are so rare. 

He closed the book with a loud thud, making Beka look up at him from the far end of the room, frowning behind his laptop.

“What’s up?”

“Life fucking sucks,” Yuri told him, muttering under his nose.

“Tell me about it.” Beka’s response made him roll his eyes, dropping the book in his lap.

“Shut up, you have a good life, you don’t have the right to complain.”

Otabek really did have a good life, and Yuri thought he deserved it all. He got to make a living of doing what he loved best, and even though he screwed up their friendship years ago, Beka still had a lot of people around to support him. He had a boyfriend, and although Yuri had only met him once, it was clear how much Anton loved him. 

He was a fortunate person, that was undeniable. Yuri remembered all the medals he’d seen in his room, and had the ironic thought that after he single-handedly destroyed their friendship, which couldn’t have been easy for Otabek, he went and become an olympic and world champion. 

It was a fair trade, he guessed. 

“Um, I meant tell me why you said that,” Otabek was fighting a smile, while doing his best to keep his expression serious.

“It just does,” Yuri shrugged and stood up, gathering his notes from the couch. “It’s kinda late, I think I’m gonna go.”

“How do you feel about your exam?” Beka asked him, standing up as well, grabbing his backpack to hand it to him. 

“Remember that weird stuff Phichit made us eat in Bangkok?” Yuri shoved everything in his bag and followed Otabek out of the room, who winced at the mention of the memory.

“How could I forget? I felt nauseous all day, while you laughed and took pictures of me suffering.”

“There’s your answer.”

Beka chuckled before handing him a box, rolling his eyes when Yuri looked at him with a questioning raise of his eyebrow. 

“For dinner. Your fridge was practically empty.”

Yuri took it, eyeing the box for a moment, while he tried to hide the smile he was fighting. He gave up soon and raised his head to look at Beka, smirking at him. 

“God, you’re such an adult.”

“It’s just food, Yuri.”

“Yeah, but dude, you have Tupperware.”

“Well,” Beka lowered his head and gave a shrug, before glancing back up at him with a small, but smug smile, “if it’s so embarrassing, you can always give it back.”

Yuri hugged the box a little closer to his chest.

“I suppose I’ll survive somehow.”

Otabek laughed quietly, and Yuri’s gaze lingered on the tiny wrinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes before he caught himself and turned away, fiddling with his jacket. They stood at the door in silence, and Yuri looked around like he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t leave anything there. He couldn’t help but drag the moment out a little, trying to ignore how much he wanted to stay.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Beka asked suddenly, his eyes sincere and his smile gone, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. “There is something I want to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” Yuri frowned. Whatever it was, it seemed important, but Otabek shook his head, not explaining it further.

“Tomorrow. Please, just… come back after your exam, okay?”

He nodded, accepting that he wasn’t going to get anything out of him until then. He left with a heavy heart, still clutching the small box in his hands, with Beka’s words echoing in his mind, trying to figure out what was so important and serious that he didn’t want to discuss it with him until he was done with tomorrow’s test. 

He went to school the next day still contemplating the time he spent with Otabek. It was just one day but it definitely felt longer than that, with a hundred different emotions from his breakdown during the bike ride, their walk in the park, to the lunch they had together and the medals he had seen, and of course that last request, and how Beka almost seemed nervous about it. It felt like a rollercoaster, and Yuri decided he ought to rethink the idea of spending his whole life like this, watching Otabek and trying to find some hidden meaning behind everything, hoping against all hopes that one day he wouldn’t see him as his long-lost best friend anymore. Or that maybe one day there would be no more surprises like the olympic silver, and Beka would finally tell him about things instead of having to find out for himself either by accident, or by googling. 

He wished he could talk to Polina but he was almost late, arriving to the exam in the last minute, right before the professor. He threw his things down, frantically searching for a pen while they handed out the papers, and he set to work immediately, grateful for something else to focus on. 

He practically felt the huge weight lifted off his chest as he examined the questions one by one, discovering that even if he didn’t know the answer right away, he knew enough to bullshit his way through them all. The hour flew by rapidly, and when the professor announced that they had five minutes left, he put down his pen, straightening up, repressing a groan as he felt the tension easing in his muscles.

On his way out, he sent a satisfied grin to Polina who was silently trying to send him some kind of message he didn’t understand, by waving her hand and mouthing way too many words for a conversation like that. He pulled his phone out from his backpack when he was outside, turning off the airplane mode after three days of radio silence, and started to type a text to Polina, inviting her to get super drunk to celebrate their last exam and to say goodbye before he flew to Japan in a few days.

His message was interrupted by an ocean of notifications, and he frowned as he went through them. Mostly there were calls, from people who he rarely talked to anymore, and the sinking feeling in his stomach told him that something must have happened, because there was no way they would all randomly decide to contact him at the same time.

Viktor, he could understand. He was due to leave for Hasetsu soon, and maybe he wanted to check up on him, or just ask if he needed anything. Yuuri, too.

Polina was an easy one, she always called him with the least important things, like what kind of ice cream she should get, or if Yuri happened to know anything about the politics of Argentina.

Missed calls from Misha were harder to explain, since he actually remembered to tell him that he would turn off his phone for three days while he was studying, but something could always happen, and maybe he just wanted to try and see if he could reach Yuri.

But that wasn’t all, no.

Mila called him four times, and Seung-gil tried once too, along with a handful of other people he had no idea how they got his number or who they actually were. He hesitantly opened his Instagram, and he was instantly flooded by thousands of notifications, mostly messages and fans tagging him in pictures. He hurriedly closed it, not daring to look at any of them, and decided to text Seung-gil first. He quickly did the math to check what the time was in Seoul, relaxing a little when he realized it was the middle of the afternoon. If something did happen, he wanted to talk to Seung-gil first, knowing that he would probably be painfully honest and stoic about it.

_11.03 me: hey_  
_11.03 me: what the hell is happening_  
_11.03 me: i have like a fuckload of calls_

He replied almost immediately and Yuri opened his message with increasing concern and confusion. 

_11.04 Seung-gil: i guess that means you haven’t seen it yet_

_11.04 me: seen what??_  
_11.05 me: if you don’t tell me right fucking now i am flying to seoul to kick your grumpy ass_

_11.06 Seung-gil: feel free, i’m actually in bangkok with phichit, but i was just looking for these_  
_11.06 Seung-gil: the whole world is going crazy so you better prepare_

He sent an attachment, and Yuri clicked on it right away with a lump in his throat, waiting for the site to load. His eyes widened when he saw the post on a figure skating fanblog, featuring a long discussion about him and his current life, and below that, there were pictures.

Pictures taken with a cellphone probably.

Pictures of him and Otabek at the park, Beka hugging him with an arm around his shoulder while he walked beside him with his head hung, smiling softly. Pictures of Beka standing in front of him, his hands cupping Yuri’s face, locking eyes with him. Pictures of them taking the narrow road alone, further away from the people, Otabek walking backwards in front of him, with a close up of his fond smile and eyes. Pictures that could have been interpreted in a way that apparently made the whole figure skating world turn upside down, with detailed theories and Yuri’s Angels writing long posts in the comments section, discussing Yuri’s life, analyzing the photos and arguing over the two of them. 

He stared at his phone, unable to breathe properly and felt a chain around his chest tighten as he saw several other links posted on the site, all leading to fanblogs with the same pictures, fanarts and even hurriedly written fanfictions, people trying to find out how they could reach him or find him to ask questions about them, fans deciding that they would do anything to find out what’s happening.

_11.11 me: fucking hell_  
_11.11 me: seung-gil_  
_11.11 me: this is really bad_

_11.12 Seung-gil: it is_  
_11.12 Seung-gil: apparently no one knew that you guys are even talking again_

_11.13 me: i have to talk to him_

Yuri dropped his phone back in his bag and started running. 

His lungs burned with panic as he jumped on the bus taking him to Otabek’s place, and he tried to calm his breathing and his uncontrollably beating heart. He sat down, but his legs were bouncing up and down, occasionally kicking the seat in front of him, and he looked around, trying to see if there was anyone on the bus who paid attention to him, anyone with a cell phone directed at him, anyone who might have known about the post and wanted to find out where he was going and why he was in a state like that. 

When Otabek opened the door, he pushed past him without saying hello, throwing his bag on the ground, taking deep, shuddering breaths. Beka seemed clueless, but Yuri wasn’t sure he hadn’t seen the photos, as far as he knew, it could have been what he wanted to talk to him about. 

“Have you seen it? Have you seen the pictures?” he stood in the middle of the living room, demanding an answer, clenching his fists to stop them from shaking.

Beka nodded with his eyebrows drawn together.

“Yes, this morning. Yuri, what…?”

“How did this happen?” Yuri interrupted him, raking his hand through his hair as he started pacing back and forth. “Everyone is looking for me now, they want to know things about me, I can’t…” he drew in a sharp breath, stopping to look at the other man. “I can’t deal with this, Beka, I can’t.”

“Yuri,” Otabek stepped closer, trying to catch his eyes, “it’s not a big deal, they will get over it in a few days.”

“No, they won’t,” he said, “I made them forget about me and now they want to find me again, the fans, the journalists, the bloggers, the whole fucking world is interested again suddenly and I don’t want to face them.”

“You don’t have to,” Beka tried to reassure him, “just ignore it.”

Yuri wished he could do that but he was unable to erase the posts from his mind, the ones debating how long he’d been talking to Otabek again and how long they were together. They didn’t even question that they were a couple, everyone thought that the photos were undeniable proof that the Hero of Kazakhstan and Yuri Plisetsky, Russia’s lost fairy and ice tiger with the tragic story were out on a date, taking a romantic walk in the park. 

He was so careful not to do anything to draw the attention to himself since he retired. He was terrified to admit that he couldn’t find his way after he was forced to stop skating, and there were always some fans who tried to ask him about his friendship with Otabek, wondering what had happened between them when they suddenly no longer posted pictures together at competitions and such. 

“I can’t ignore it, Beka, don’t you fucking get it?” he was shaking, but he turned to lock eyes with him. Otabek seemed completely unaffected by the whole thing which pissed him off even more. “I can’t do this, I can’t talk to them and admit that my life went to shit and everything is a fucking mess around me. I don’t want them to talk about how much I screwed everything up, and how fucking sad and tragic it is that my career ended like this and now I’m going to a school I hate, I can barely live, and I’m a fucking bartender in a shithole pub, pathetically trying to avoid anything skating-related.”

“Yuri, stop, calm down,” Beka grabbed his arms and made him sit down, holding his hands as he kneeled in front of him, “it’s not that bad, I promise you.”

“I don’t want to deal with this,” Yuri told him again, shaking his head, “I can’t deal with this.”

“Maybe you can,” Otabek replied, “Yura, you’ve been to the rink with me, you watched my skaters’ programs, you even asked me about it. It’s not that bad anymore, you’ve made so much progress, it’s incredible.”

Yuri felt his stomach freeze for a second, a horrible sinking feeling in his chest as he processed Beka’s words, and he pulled away, letting go of his hand.

“Progress,” he repeated quietly, “God fucking dammit, Beka, why did you say that? Am I some kind of charity project for you or something?”

Yuri stood up and Beka took a step back to let him. He buried his face in his hands, feeling more exhausted now than ever, and thought about how he should be celebrating tonight, putting an end to another shitty semester.

“Why are you so calm about this anyway?” he turned back, raising his voice when he saw Otabek still at the couch, looking taken aback by his words. “You have a fucking boyfriend, what does Anton say about all this?”

Beka huffed, returning his gaze, his dark brown eyes unreadable as he replied.

“I wouldn’t know. I broke up with him.”

“You _what_?” Yuri stopped dead in his tracks. “When?”

He was almost sure he knew the answer to his question, that’s why he asked. The sinking feeling in his stomach was back, and one look at Beka’s face told him he was right. He didn’t need to know the exact date, that wasn’t the point.

“Does it matter?” He looked away, avoiding Yuri’s eyes.

“When, Otabek?” The use of his full name made Beka almost visibly wince, defeated as he closed his eyes for a second before giving him an answer.

“Like... three weeks ago?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yuri demanded to know, and he only hoped he would get a different answer than the one he guessed.

“I was planning to, but you were busy with your exams and I didn’t want to…”

“Oh my god” Yuri threw his hands up, “I swear to god, Beka, if you say you didn’t want to upset me, or didn’t want me to worry, I don’t know what I’ll do. Is that how it’s going to be? You don’t tell me anything, ever, because you want to, what, protect me?”

“No, Yuri…”

“Shut up.” He turned away, only to look back again. The words started flowing out of him, and Otabek was standing there, listening to him silently as he poured it all on him. It was long overdue, and Yuri had no idea these things were bothering him that much until he started speaking and found himself unable to stop. “You didn’t tell me you moved to the city, then you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend, or that you broke up with him, you didn’t tell me anything about your fucking job unless I asked at least four times and assured you that I won’t fucking break if you say the wrong words. You keep doing this and you don’t even notice. I don’t know anything about you, Beka. And now you’re telling me I made progress, like you’re my fucking therapist or something. So tell me this, are you only here because you think you can fix me? Are we friends at all? Do you even want me to be in your life, or do you just want to be in mine, because you feel guilty?”

A heavy silence fell on the room as he said the last words, only broken by Yuri’s loud, shaky breaths as he tried to stop the tears he felt coming. Beka opened his mouth to reply but closed it again, unable to answer and he seemed shocked, hurt by the words he’d heard, his brown eyes losing their brightness a little, the lines on his forehead deepening as he frowned.

“Why would you say that? Why would I feel guilty?”

There was no going back now, and Yuri ignored how hoarse Beka’s voice sounded, deciding that if he had started this, he would now say everything he wanted to say, no holds barred.

“Maybe because you weren’t there when my life went to shit,” he said, “when my grandpa got sick, or when I got injured, when they told me I would never be able to land a quad again. You weren’t there when Mila moved to Italy or when Yuuri and Viktor went back to Japan for good, or when grandpa died and I had to plan his fucking funeral alone.”

Otabek was paler than he’d ever seen him before, and he shook his head, swallowing as he tried to find the right words.

“No, that’s not fair. You’re the one who cut me off, you don’t get to do this now.”

“Well you didn’t exactly break your back trying to do anything about it, did you?” Yuri’s voice was cold and somewhere, deep inside he knew that he was being merciless, and Otabek was right. He was the one who ended their friendship after all, but it was out now and he wasn’t going to take it back.

“I tried, Yura, you know I did.”

“Then I guess you didn't try hard enough.” Yuri wondered how they ended up like this, both of them with unshed tears in their eyes and unsaid words on their lips, years of repressed emotions washing away all the good things in minute, like they had never happened.

“No. You sent me away, you told me you didn’t need me in your life so do not blame me for believing you.” Otabek shut his eyes, brushing through his hair once as he took a deep breath. “This isn’t fair, Yura.”

“I know,” he replied, his throat so tight he could barely get the words out, and he grabbed his backpack, preparing to leave, “but you didn’t answer my question.”

He opened the door, willing himself not to look back as he said something else, something that could probably cost him this whole weird, uneven, careful friendship they had.

“So while I’m in Japan,” he started, “maybe you should take some time to think about this. I mean… if you’re only friends with me because you really do feel guilty, then thanks a lot, but I don’t need your pity.”

He somehow managed to close the door behind him before the first tear rolled down on his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo?? :')
> 
> Just a little extra something:  
> Otabek and Yuri spent a month in Bangkok for Phichit's ice show when Yuri was 18 years old.
> 
> Edit: okay so i realized that i screwed up the timeline a little bit (note to self: always do the math before you start throwing around words like olympics), so here's how things happened in chronological order:
> 
> Yuri is 20: He goes to visit Otabek in Almaty. This is the last time they meet in person.  
> Yuri is 21: This is the season after Almaty, he takes a fall at Nationals which results in him not making the world team that year. He goes back to training full-time earlier than he should, because he is still a substitute and just in case he can go to europeans or worlds after all, he will need the prize money (he doesn't end up going to either of them). During this season he talks to Beka a few times but then cuts him off completely.  
> Yuri is 22: He takes another fall at Skate America which ends his career. Otabek gets silver at the Olympics and gold at Worlds (additional info on that is coming up soon lol). Nikolai dies in April, a few months after Yuri learns there is nothing the doctors can do to save him.
> 
> Yuri is now 25, and the following season is an olympic one again.
> 
> That's it, hope it helps, it definitely helped me :')


	8. Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"He shoved his hands in his pocket, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun while he mentally prepared himself for the day. Being with Viktor and Yuuri in Hasetsu made him feel like he was fifteen again, being the little kid around two people who, for some reason cared about him no matter what he did or how he talked to them. He remembered how rude he was when he first came here, and how Yuuri seemed to almost be afraid of him. They’d both come a long way since then."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I hope I didn't make you feel like I abandoned the story, because that's not what happened at all. I was constantly working on it, but as we get closer to the end of the story, I have to pay attention, make sure that everything happens the way it should. So I'm really sorry about the delay, but I'm done!
> 
> The chapter turned out to be much longer than I thought so I had to cut it again, which means I'm gonna have to add another chapter AGAIN. :'))) At this point I might end up with 15 chapters who the hell even knows anymore, i don't. :')))
> 
> Okay, I hope you're going to like it, and if you leave a comment or kudos I will forever be grateful! Enjoy!

Yuri met Misha the day before his flight, after spending the better half of the morning convincing himself to give him a call. They agreed to meet at his place, after Yuri clumsily fumbled over the words, telling him that he didn’t want to accidentally put Misha in the center of the spotlight too, and that fans could become really mean if they saw them together somewhere. 

The last thing he wanted for Misha was to receive any kind of backlash from those so called fans who usually went overboard with their ideas and got carried away with their hopes and fantasies regarding him or Otabek. He remembered all too well what happened a few years ago, when Beka spent a month in Russia for a summer training camp. He went out with Mila once to see a play Yuri wasn’t interested in, which resulted in hundreds of horrible messages all across Mila’s social media pages. Even though Mila didn’t seem to care and mostly she just laughed at the online harassment she was getting, Yuri knew that not everyone was as tough as her and he never wanted that to happen to anyone else, ever. 

He didn’t exactly know what to expect from Misha when he arrived, but it certainly wasn’t a thin, but sincere smile and a plastic bag full of snacks. Yuri let him in and they awkwardly stood by the couch for a few seconds before Misha broke the silence, putting the bag down.

“I brought food,” he said, “I wasn’t sure what people do in a situation like this but eating is always a good choice, right?” he cleared his throat, hesitating. “Anyway, um… how did you do on your exam?”

Yuri stared at him and gave a short, quiet laugh before he replied, with his eyebrows furrowed and his tone careful.

“Not to sound rude, but do you really want to know?”

Misha hummed and seemed to think for a moment, “I’m not sure. I think I’m just asking because I don’t know how to start this conversation. But I asked so you might as well answer.” 

Yuri tilted his head down and smiled. The other man was just as unprepared and nervous as he was, his awkward, shy bluntness perfectly resembling their first meeting when he asked him out.

“It went well, thanks,” he replied, handing him a cup of coffee and taking his own as they sat down on the couch. There was no point in trying to halt the inevitable so he took a deep breath, turning to face Misha. “Hey, um, I’m really sorry about those pictures, okay? I did study for the test and this, uh, friend of mine just showed up at my door and said I needed fresh air and stuff, and I just… we went out because I was going crazy locked inside. I didn’t mean to lie about it or do it behind your back or anything.”

Misha turned towards him too, pulling up his legs to sit cross-legged on the sofa. 

“I believe you,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So a friend, huh?”

He nodded, pressing his lips together into a thin line. Misha was watching him with a curious expression, studying him with a knowing look before he added something else.

“Yuri, I’m not the brightest person on Earth but I’m not that stupid either.” A short laugh escaped his lips, colourless but kind, certainly more understanding than Yuri thought he deserved. “The way you look at him… I never stood a chance, did I?”

“I…” he frowned, not sure how to answer. He didn’t need to though, because Misha took his hesitation as confirmation and smiled again, his usual glee overshadowed by traces of sadness in his eyes. 

“I figured. Don’t feel bad, you can’t control your feelings.”

“Nothing happened between us,” Yuri said suddenly, “I need you to know that. I would never do that to you.”

“I didn’t think that,” he replied, taking a deep breath and Yuri saw him gaining strength for what he was about to say, “that’s not even the reason it hurts a little. I mean, obviously it’s not exactly a pleasant feeling,” he huffed, “knowing that all this time you were in love with someone else, but… do you know what else I found out from that article?”

Yuri stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“I found out I was dating a figure skating legend.”

He stared at him, gripping his mug a little tighter as he felt his cheeks burn, and he couldn’t decide if it was caused by embarrassment or he was just caught off-guard by the mention of his career. Misha kept talking, stumbling over his words as he tried to explain it.

“You never even told me that you used to be a professional athlete and I had to google you to find out that you won the world championships twice. You won the Olympics, Yuri. _The Olympics._ And I…” he sighed, sniffling a little, “I mean, I guess I just don’t know if… um, if you didn’t think it was that important, or you didn’t think I was.

“Neither,” Yuri sat up straight, determined to make Misha understand that it wasn’t anything he did or said, it was him and the tower of issues he piled up over the years regarding the sport. “Look, if you googled me, you must have read other things too. Like why I don’t skate anymore.”

He waited until Misha nodded, going on with his heart beating in his throat. He had to explain it, he owed him that much, but that didn’t make it easier, and he hoped Misha wouldn’t ask many questions about it. 

“So… it’s not that you weren’t important enough or anything,” he swallowed, preparing for what he was about to say, “I just don’t talk about skating. Ever. It’s too painful and I don’t like the way people look at me, like I have this tragic backstory or something. Like I’m someone to feel sorry for. I even refused to go near an ice rink until recently. So it’s wasn’t anything personal against you, okay?”

“Okay,” Misha nodded again, “but you’re an actual olympic champion, I mean… you should be proud of that. And you were what, 18 years old? That’s incredible.”

Yuri gave a shrug and couldn’t stop a small, smug smile from appearing on his face.

“I also broke a few world records,” he added, “yeah, I wasn’t bad.”

Misha huffed again, the sadness momentarily vanishing from his eyes to give space to amazement upon hearing him say that. They got quiet after that, Yuri contemplating his next words, trying to choose them carefully. They were dancing around the point of their meeting and it was time to stop stalling.

“Listen, I really like you,” he started, “I just…” 

“No,” Misha stopped him, “please don’t say what you’re about to say. I know anyway.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a second. “You like me, but only as a friend and you’re sorry because I’m such a nice guy.”

He sounded bitter and he looked so small as he leaned back on the couch, dropping his hands in his lap, glancing down at them. For the first time that day, the mask of smiles and lightheartedness disappeared, exposing his real emotions underneath. Yuri had never seen him so lonely and he wondered how many times he had to sit through talks like this one, how many times he had to hear similar words, always leading to the same place. He thought about how his younger self would have run away, never answering his phone anymore, or would have been plain rude to Misha to get him to turn his back on Yuri instead, so he wouldn’t have to. This, watching him as he tried to smile and blink away the stray tears was a thousand times more difficult, but at the same time left him content, knowing that Misha would at least know his reasons and they would get to say goodbye to each other.

He had previously considered offering to stay friends, but hearing Misha talk like that changed his mind. He was going to miss him, but it seemed like he wouldn’t be the first one to do that, and it would just hurt him more. What Misha needed was a proper break up, not having Yuri in his life at all so he could move on. 

They said goodbye to each other with a hug that lasted longer than it should have. Yuri hesitantly put his arms around Misha’s shoulders and pulled him closer, hoping that it was the right move on his part and he wasn’t going to make the situation even worse. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing, having been on the receiving end of hugs recently. He couldn’t remember the last time he tried to comfort someone. The thought, again, reminded him of his selfishness and how the last couple of years he was too busy feeling sorry for himself to notice the people around him. Misha was reluctant to let go, and he hid his face in the crook of Yuri’s neck, tightening his hold around his waist before he stepped back, sniffling. A strand of light brown hair stuck to his temple and Yuri resisted the urge to reach out and brush it to the side. 

Misha was trying to stay strong, holding back the tears until he left and Yuri knew from experience that a soft touch could mean a breaking point, one which neither of them wanted to deal with in the presence of the other. Yuri wouldn’t have known what to do and he had a feeling Misha wouldn’t want to cry in front of him so he took a step back and turned to the door to let him go. 

He remained standing at the door for a while after he was left alone, looking around in his apartment, wondering what he should be doing now. It felt wrong somehow to just go and pack for his flight tomorrow like nothing happened, like he didn’t just break someone’s heart and so he sat down on his worn-out sofa again, reaching for the bag of snacks Misha brought with him and left there.

He spent half an hour like this, walking around in the flat, not doing anything in particular when his phone chimed with a text. It felt like he was shaken awake by the short, sharp sound tearing apart the silence around him and he checked the message with an annoyed sigh. 

_17.22 lina: grades up for macroecs_  
_17.22 lina: guess who got a 5 duuude_  
_17.23 lina: check yours and let me know if we should drink to your success too_

Yuri went to his bedroom, ignoring his empty suitcase lying on the ground and opened up his laptop, logging in to the university’s online platform. He felt his heart beating in his throat as he clicked on the course list, holding his breath.

Right next to Macroeconomics, was the number 3, saving his life and his school semester, and he let out a long breath, texting back to Polina. She replied a few minutes later with a selfie of her and Tatiana, holding their glasses of wine, a third one in Tatiana’s hand with Yuri’s name written on the plastic cup with a sharpie. 

He dropped his shoulders and leaned back in his chair, raking a hand through his blond hair. He was officially done with this year, and he survived it without failing. It wasn’t easy, and he honestly didn’t know if he could have done it without Polina and… 

Otabek. 

He reached for his phone again, opening up their messages and stared at the screen, wondering if he should tell him. He wanted to, and he remembered the last time he called him about a grade, too excited to care about Polina being present, inviting him over for dinner, and the sinking pain upon hearing Anton’s name for the first time, a familiar punch in his stomach as Otabek said “my boyfriend”. 

This time he also passed with Beka’s help, but he wasn’t sure if he would even reply to his message, let alone a phone call. After all, he was the one who said they could use a little bit of distance, and while he didn’t specifically asked for radio silence, Otabek seemed to think that’s what they needed. Yuri hadn’t heard from him in the last two days, and as much as he wanted to contact him, he stayed away. He was the one who said Beka should think about his reasons for being there for him, and if Beka needed them not to talk to each other for a while, then he was going to respect that decision.

It pained him to do so, but he locked his phone and threw it on his bed. 

He also opened up a bottle of wine he bought on his way home the other day, thinking that he very much deserved a drink while he was packing for Japan. He just found out that he had passed his last exam, he had just broken up with someone he actually cared about and he was very close to losing his best friend whom he was in love with, so fuck if he wasn’t going to drink to that. He always hated packing anyway, so at least it would make it more fun, he guessed, and he started his favourite playlist, avoiding clicking on the mix he got from Otabek. 

That’s how he was going to spend his evening, he decided, getting drunk alone in his apartment, throwing random clothes in his suitcase without giving any thought to what he was actually going to need. He made sure to pack the scarf he got from the Nishigoris though, and he danced around his room with a glass in his hand, yelling lyrics which his neighbours probably didn’t appreciate that much. 

He picked up his phone after the second glass, sending a picture to Polina.

_17.49 me: it’s the perfect party_  
_17.49 me: we’re both drunk but i don’t have to listen to u_

_17.52 lina: it doesn’t matter_  
_17.52 lina: you always know what i’m thinking_  
_17.54 lina: we’re best friends, you ass_  
_17.54 lina: we’re so close we finish each other’s_

_17.55 me: drinks_

_17.56 lina: that was ONE TIME AND I APOLOGIZED_

Yuri laughed out loud, his voice swallowed by the beats and he threw another pair of jeans in his suitcase. At least he still had Polina, he thought, his stupid, chatty best friend who never failed to cheer him up with her nonsense.

He was halfway through his wine and his playlist, singing along to the guitar solo when he heard loud banging coming from his ceiling. He took another sip of his wine and stuck his tongue out to his neighbours, otherwise ignoring the kind request to turn the volume down. He was twenty-five years old and lived like a hermit, never throwing parties or doing anything really, so he thought he was entitled to one night when he could feel like a normal person. He heard the knocking again and he looked up, almost falling over his own suitcase when he accidentally stumbled into it.

“What was that?” he asked, holding a hand to his ear, “You like the song? Hah, me too, pal, let me just turn it up for you a little!”

It wasn’t even that late so he didn’t give a damn if anyone was bothered by the noise, and he kept dancing around the flat, collecting everything he needed and throwing them into the suitcase.

An hour later he kicked it shut, gulping down the last glass of alcohol. He left the bottle on the table and went to sleep, making sure he had set at least four alarms. He felt a lot better, he wasn’t totally wasted, only pleasantly drunk, the wine making him giddy and lightheaded and the few texts from Polina reassuring him that whatever happened, he still had at least one person in his life who didn’t hate him. 

He woke up with a light headache the next morning, silently cursing as he slid out of bed in a very ungraceful way. He made a low sound of a dying cat as he remembered that he had a whole day of travelling to look forward to, and getting slightly tipsy the night before was probably not his brightest idea. Yuri didn’t particularly like flying anyway, he got bored and the landing always made his ears hurt, but flying even when he was even a tiny bit hungover was hellish. 

He used to enjoy it, though. He used to love the takeoff, the exhilaration as the plane accelerated and he felt his body being pressed back against his seat, the way his stomach dropped when they left the ground, and he remembered how thrilled he was everytime they announced that the weather conditions weren’t the best, and how he kept waiting for the storm outside to shake the airplane. It was an adventure for him when he was younger, like everything else that came with being one of the top figure skaters of Russia.

Over the years he got used to it as he had to fly somewhere almost every month. There was always something, a competition, a training camp or an ice show that required him to spend hour upon hour sleeping on planes, watching shitty movies and trying to find a way to kill time at airports. He slowly got bored and after a while he only requested to sit by the window so he could avoid being sandwiched between two people.

He hadn’t been on a plane in three years though, and Yuri couldn’t help but feel some of the old excitement as he heard the engines roar, gaining speed for the takeoff. He took a painkiller before he got on the plane, drank a lot of water and ate something to calm his stomach, which worked wonders. He thanked whoever was up there that his russian genes finally came in handy, and he leaned back in his seat, preparing himself for the next 15 hours of travelling, including a 4-hour-long break in Helsinki. 

While he was waiting for his next flight, he used the airport’s wifi to go through his messages, quickly checking in to Viktor to let him know he was on his way. Other than the texts from him and Polina, his inbox seemed to mock Yuri with its emptiness, and he realized again just how much he’d been hoping to hear from Otabek. He kept repeating his own words in his mind about giving Otabek the time and distance he needed, but he couldn’t help it, that tiny flicker of hope to see his name pop up on his screen with a message. He longed to hear from him, even if it was just a few words, even if it was nothing personal, like a “have a great trip”, “say hi to Viktor and Yuuri for me” or “we’ll talk when you get back”. Nothing.

The uncertainty was slowly killing him as he tried to see into Beka’s head, figure out what he was thinking and if he even thought about Yuri at all. His brain started playing tricks on him, making up at least four different worst-case scenarios, all of them equally scary. Like Otabek realizing how easy things had been before they became friends again and deciding that Yuri wasn’t worth it, or his personal favourite, the one in which his life became a soap opera and his plane crashed, with him dying or surviving but losing his memories. Beka meeting the love of his life while Yuri was in Japan, the two of them eloping somewhere to get married, never returning to Saint Petersburg. 

Or, the most realistic one, Beka getting back together with Anton. Yuri felt his stomach clench for a whole other reason than being hungover, and he realized he hadn’t even asked Beka why they broke up. 

_”Does he know how you feel?”_

Misha asked him this question just the day before, and Yuri shook his head, replying only with ‘No, I don’t think so’. 

_”Then he’s blind.”_

Yuri didn’t agree with him. Otabek was very perceptive and smart when it came to other people, reading their emotions and what went through their heads. But they had a complicated history, one which he definitely hadn’t planned to tell Misha about, so he left it at that, giving a short shrug and a tight-lipped smile. 

Otabek wasn’t blind, but he probably didn’t trust Yuri right now. He walked out on him once before, when Beka thought everything was fine, when they were best friends, always looking for an opportunity to meet, to spend time together, and they shared every detail of their lives. 

Every single one, except for Yuri’s feelings for him.

He started regretting that he didn’t come clean completely. The opportunity was there, they were talking about what happened five years ago and he felt the words stuck in his throat, unable to say them when it mattered. So Beka still didn’t know, he had no idea why Yuri shut him out of his life and everyday while Yuri kept quiet about it, he felt their friendship slipping further away, out of his reach. 

He arrived at Fukuoka airport late at night, worn out from the travelling, with a dull pain in his back and his muscles pulling uncomfortably when he stretched. He connected to the airport’s wifi again while he was waiting for his suitcase to arrive, his fingers hovering over his social media apps. He hadn’t posted anything for years, but he felt a strangely familiar pettiness rising in chest, tugging on him to upload something, just to stay _present_ , just to remind Otabek that he didn’t leave forever. That this time, he was only on vacation and he was going to return to Russia in two weeks. The internet had already blown up over him, so it was pointless to keep staying away from instagram in fear that people wouldn’t forget about him. 

In the end he decided against it, but only because he didn’t want his first picture to be of the boring, grey baggage claiming room, or a selfie in which he looked like a ghost of himself, with circles under his eyes and tangled hair that got messed up during his short nap on the plane.

He stepped out of the automatic doors leading to the arrivals area and immediately spotted Yuuri and Viktor waiting for him. It would have been hard not to notice them, with Viktor waving at him with that ridiculously huge smile on his face, and Yuri felt a smaller, but equally happy one appearing on his, as he lazily raised an arm to wave back.

His breath got knocked out of him when he got pulled in a tight hug, with a handful of black hair in his mouth. A second later another pair of arms sneaked around them both and he practically got crushed between the two men holding him. 

“Get off,” he tried to say, but the words got muffled by Yuuri’s hoodie. They seemed to understand him anyway and they let him go, but not until Viktor reached up and ruffled his hair.

“Sorry,” Yuuri smiled, “we haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Are you taller?” Viktor was eyeing him suspiciously, holding his palm over his head, trying to compare himself to Yuri.

“No,” Yuri replied, “you’re the one who’s getting shorter now.”

“I am _not_ ,” Viktor gasped dramatically, pulling his hand back to put it over his heart.

“Glad to see you’re still you,” Yuuri laughed at them both and grabbed his suitcase, “I’ll take this, let the old man rest.”

“Savage,” Yuri reached out for a lowfive and smirked back at Viktor, expecting the man to be complaining loudly about his husband betraying him. He was smiling though, warm and content, shaking his head fondly as he followed them out to the car. 

The ride back to Hasetsu was mostly quiet on Yuri’s part. He asked a few questions and sat back, listening to them taking turns as they told him stories about their everyday life, Yuuri’s family and the Nishigoris. They were telling him about their movie nights, what they usually eat for lunch, their vacation in Thailand when they visited Phichit last year, and how they keep playing ridiculous games to decide who’s going to do the housework.

Yuri was watching them quietly, traced the patterns of light wrinkles on their faces as they laughed, most of them new to him as he hadn’t seen them for almost three years. They looked exactly the same, and somehow completely different, more themselves than ever and yet, in spite of the funny stories and the banter, more adult. Older but not in a bad way. Yuri thought they had never looked more at peace with themselves.

Naturally, he had no intention of telling them that. Oh, no. He was _back_ , and he was more than prepared to give them the real Plisetsky-experience, so that they either won’t want to let him go after two weeks, or won’t talk to him ever again. Their short exchange at the airport showed him that Yuuri was probably going to be his partner in crime against Viktor, which was all sorts of weird and not weird at all, considering that the japanese man had a wicked sense of humour once he got comfortable with someone. Ten years must have been enough for that.

They were talking about their plan to redecorate the house when Yuri noticed a pattern in the conversation, and he acknowledged it with an exasperated sigh, interrupting their discourse about the colour of the bathroom wall.

“You guys can talk about skating, you know,” he said in a flat voice, making them both stop and glance back at him. Viktor turned back to watch the road but Yuuri looked at him a moment longer, examining his expression, probably wondering if he’d heard it right.

“You mean… um,” apparently he wasn’t quite sure how to finish that sentence, and Yuri huffed, rolling his eyes.

“I mean, you guys can fucking talk about skating,” he crossed his arms, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of Yuuri’s worried eyes on him, “stop making a big deal out of this, okay?”

He caught the subtle change in Viktor’s demeanor and decided not to comment on it to avoid leading the conversation to more dangerous topics. Subtle, but there nonetheless, even though he only saw his eyes from the rear view mirror, glancing up to meet his, a knowing look in them paired with a few laugh lines in the corner that meant he was smiling. It was gone in a few seconds but Yuri noticed it, and averted his eyes. 

They hadn’t yet asked him about Otabek or the photos. It surprised him, since both of them called him on the day that post went viral and he never called them back, ignoring the whole thing and only texting about the flight. He expected it among the first three questions after he got there and planned to shut them down, not feeling ready to talk about it just yet, but they hadn’t even tried.

Maybe they thought it was like figure skating, a topic that made Yuri close off and hide in himself immediately, not giving a single clue as to what he thought or felt, and more often than not, replying with an attack to defend himself. They always respected his attitude towards skating after his injury, and never once tried to expand the boundaries Yuri had set, carefully avoiding everything related to the sport. But, unlike other skaters Yuri knew and maybe even liked, Yuuri and Viktor had found other things to talk about, other ways to stay in his life, no matter how difficult it was. The had only mentioned it once, in the letter they sent to his birthday, and even then, they specifically told him to watch Axel’s short dance on Nationals, as if they didn’t want him to see more than what was absolutely necessary. 

Things had changed since then. 

No, Yuri had changed.

He hadn’t seen the video yet, but he was convinced that this time he truly did forget about it, and it wasn’t a trick his subconscious played on him to avoid having to deal with skating. He slowly tested his limits, carefully tugging on the strings keeping him together, to see if he could stand without them, and at every step so far, he succeeded. Now he almost wanted everyone to treat him like before, to stop acting like they have to walk on shattered glass around him and feel comfortable enough to mention the sport.

Because even if it stung, the one thing he had learnt during the past few months was that he didn’t matter. Not more than others, at least, not anymore. He had no right to make people feel too uncomfortable to talk about something they loved, and even if he did, after a while it was going to bother him anyway. The Yuri Plisetsky who enjoyed the spotlight, who loved being the center of attention, the rude brat who acted like the world revolved around him was gone. He faded away piece by piece, with his injury, his retirement, his grandfather passing away, with Mila, Yuuri and Viktor moving, and with Lilia Baranovskaya leaving. With Otabek gone, and even with the death of his cat. They each took a piece of the olympic champion with themselves, until there was no mask left for him to hide behind.

They pulled up in front of a cosy wooden house and Yuri slid out of the car with a yawn, stretching as he looked up at the building curiously. Despite its few modernish features, it didn’t look oddly out of place among the traditional japanese houses, blending in nicely with the neighbourhood’s aesthetic with its curved roof, leaning over a small veranda. Yuri’s first thought was that it looked like a _home_. A nice, clean, polished place a married couple could be proud of. 

They went inside, Yuri carrying his suitcase, occasionally yawning as the long day started to take its toll on him. 

“Tired?” Yuuri asked with a smile.

“Dead, more like,” he replied, “do you guys mind if I just…?” the end of his question was muffled by yet another yawn, and Viktor laughed at him before he stepped closer, hugging him again.

“It’s okay, go to sleep,” he said, “I’ll show you your room.” He started walking towards of the doors in the back of the living room when Yuuri’s voice stopped him.

“Won’t you take his suitcase?” he frowned.

“I’m an old man, remember?” Viktor grinned back at him then looked at Yuri who just gave a shrug and turned back to grab his things. “See? At least _someone_ respects his elders around here.”

Yuri followed him to the room and settled in quickly, fishing out his pyjamas and toothbrush from his suitcase as soon as the door closed behind Viktor. He wasn’t lying when he said he was beat, so he showered quickly, longing for a bed and possibly twenty-six hours of sleep. He checked his phone again before he settled in, noting with a bitter, thin smile that he still hadn’t had any new messages.

 

The first few days passed in a blur, with Viktor and Yuuri dragging him around Hasetsu, showing him everything like it was his first time there. Yuri didn’t mind, it had been so long since his last visit, and he found that the city was even more beautiful than he remembered. There was something magical about Hasetsu, something that helped people find peace there, and he enjoyed taking long walks in the city, discovering hidden spots, buying clothes and just simply having a great time. It was just what he needed. 

They spent a lot of time on the beach while Yuri asked more questions and listened to them sharing more stories. Sometimes he thought he saw Yuuri preparing to say something, start a new anecdote then steer the conversation away from it, changing his mind every time. They both avoided talking about figure skating, even though Viktor spent hours at the rink everyday. He and Yuuri usually sat down together after they thought Yuri was asleep, reviewing choreographies, technical elements and debating how many quads certain skaters should have in their programs. 

They visited Yuuri’s family and had katsudon for dinner, his mom carefully asking Yuri about school and work, without a single mention of his career or skating at all. A few months ago Yuri would have considered that a blessing, not having to deal with the questions, not being reminded of the ice, but now it bothered him. He felt like he lost a limb and everyone around him was trying really hard not to notice.

He couldn’t bring himself to be angry at Yuuri’s mom though, so he decided to glare across the table at Viktor instead, silently daring him to say something. Anything, just a tiny detail about the olympics, the name of a skater, or the words ‘jumping pass’, whatever they wanted, except this awkward tiptoeing around it.

He went outside after dinner, sitting cross legged on the grass, tapping his phone again to see if there was any change in his inbox when he heard footsteps behind him, stopping at the edge of the narrow veranda. He didn’t turn around, guessing that it was probably Mari having a cigarette break, and was surprised when he heard Yuuri’s voice instead.

“You know we just don’t want you to be uncomfortable, right?” 

Yuri craned his neck to look back at him, watching as Yuuri leaned against the wooden post supporting the roof. He adjusted his glasses and put his hands in his pockets, smiling. He seemed calm, relaxed and Yuri thought he’d never seen him so peaceful and content before. He didn’t know if it was thanks to Viktor, or being home, being with his family, or it was just years and years of learning to be happy. Maybe it was all of the above. Yuri didn’t even feel like calling him names, he wasn’t ‘katsudon’ or ‘pig’ anymore. He’d grown into being Katsuki Yuuri.

“That’s great,” he replied after a short silence, “this doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all.”

Yuuri inhaled deeply, looking up at the sky with a small smile before he joined him on the grass, leaning back on his palms and stretching his legs. 

“They mean well. My parents did the same thing when I moved back home,” he said, his voice filled with amusement as he recalled the memories, “I mean, when I first moved back, from Detroit. They let me be, because they didn’t really understand how I felt. I kept saying I’m thinking about retiring and they never questioned it. I went to the rink anyway, because I couldn’t give up on skating, and they didn’t question that either. They let me figure it out by myself, I guess. Mari was the only one who brought it up.”

“Did it help?” Yuri asked, “That they left you alone to deal with it?”

“For a while, yes,” he nodded, “and then it just made it worse.”

“So what happened?” 

Yuuri turned to look at him with a curious expression. He bit his lower lip, deep in thought, with soft creases lining his forehead as he examined Yuri’s face. Yuri didn’t really understand his reaction, and he was about to rephrase the question when he replied.

“Well, Viktor happened.” His frown smoothed and he smiled again, giving a modest shrug. “It’s amazing what another person and another perspective can do.”

“He convinced you to stay.” It wasn’t really a question, but apparently he was wrong, because Yuuri shook his head.

“No, that’s not it. Viktor gave me the freedom to discover all my options. The decision was still mine, and if I’d made a different choice I think he would have respected it.”

Silence fell between them as Yuri pondered over what’d heard, carding his fingers through the grass absent-mindedly. Yuuri’s words reminded him of Otabek, and he wondered if he’d be able to accept whatever decision he made, even if it meant that Yuri would have to let him go. 

Maybe that’s why Otabek didn’t like telling him about important things like his boyfriend, their breakup, his career or the time they had spent apart. Maybe it wasn’t him treating Yuri like a project, guiding him in a one-sided relationship, maybe he was simply reluctant to let Yuri back in his life because he felt conflicted about it. The thought suddenly made the possibility of Otabek leaving him a very real one, and he felt his stomach drop just from the idea of never seeing him again. 

He pulled his knees up, hugging them close to his chest, trying to erase the mental image of Otabek walking away from him, seeing him and knowing that it would be the last time they meet. He knew he could survive without him, he did so for five years, but the thing was, _he didn’t want to_. Not anymore, not after he got used to being around him again, having his best friend back. He could deal with his unrequited feelings for Beka, and he’d rather do that than deal with his absence.

He sighed, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. 

“We should go back,” he said. 

“We don’t have to,” Yuuri replied, and lied back on the grass gazing up at the night sky. Yuri followed him, resting his head on his hands, using them like a pillow. He didn’t want to go back inside and he was grateful to Yuuri for offering to stay. He felt oddly comfortable like this, sprawled out on the hard ground, in a relaxing silence around them, and he let his mind wander aimlessly, thinking about how much he loved Hasetsu, and how much he missed Yuuri and Viktor, despite his every attempt to shut them out too. 

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

 

 

Yuri woke up early the following morning, got dressed half-asleep and went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. Viktor had already been sitting there when he joined him, greeting him with a cheerful smile when he saw him.

“Good morning, Yurio!” he said loudly and Yuri grunted, making a face in return.

“Fuck, you’re still a morning person.”

“And you still aren’t, I’m guessing? Sorry if I woke you up,” Viktor was smiling and his voice lacked any impression of an actual apology. Yuri yawned and reached into the cupboard for a mug before dropping down on a kitchen stool, blinking slowly as the smell of coffee alone had started to work its magic. 

“You didn’t wake me up,” he replied after the first sip, when he felt strong enough to put together a normal sentence. “I’m going to the rink with you.”

“Really?” Viktor’s hands stopped for a second as he lowered his mug, but the surprise was quickly replaced by enthusiasm, and his smile grew wider, almost heart-shaped. “Ah, the kids are going to be so excited, especially Axel. She’s only here for a few more days, so the timing is perfect. This is gonna be great!”

Yuri blinked at him, keeping a straight face. It was too early in the morning to appreciate the thought of fifteen kids jumping around him, screaming, yelling and asking for pictures, and for a second he considered changing his mind and staying home instead. 

But he wanted to prove to Viktor that he could go to a rink without having some kind of mental breakdown, and he wasn’t going to back out now. He was also genuinely curious of Axel’s skating, since the last time he saw the triplets, they were about ten years old.

“So she doesn’t train with you?” he asked, feeling a little more awake after coffee.

“No,” Viktor smiled, “They moved to Switzerland two years ago so they could train with an ice dancer.”

“Switzerland? Is it… what’s his name? Chris’ boyfriend?” Yuri inquired, vaguely remembering the guy who used to accompany Chris to competitions. He only knew he was an ice dancer and heard Chris talk about him once or twice, but he’d never really met him, so he didn’t bother paying attention when he said his name.

“Fiance now, but yes, it’s him,” Viktor laughed, standing up and grabbing his mug to put it in the sink. He held his hand out for Yuri’s and quickly washed them with the rest of the dishes, “alright, pack your things, we’re leaving soon.”

They took the familiar route to the Ice Castle, walking side by side quietly. Viktor had a duffel bag and Yuri felt like his hands were too empty, he wasn’t used to going to the rink without proper equipment and training clothes. He shoved his hands in his pocket, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun while he mentally prepared himself for the day. Being with Viktor and Yuuri in Hasetsu made him feel like he was fifteen again, being the little kid around two people who, for some reason cared about him no matter what he did or how he talked to them. He remembered how rude he was when he first came here, and how Yuuri seemed to almost be afraid of him. They’d both come a long way since then. 

Yuuko, Loop and Lutz hugged him for what seemed like an eternity, and if he saw tears in Yuuko’s eyes, he promptly ignored it, smiling and hugging back. Viktor went inside immediately to greet the other skaters and start warming up, and Yuri lingered behind with Yuuko and the girls, catching up, chatting for a few minutes.

“You never write anymore,” Yuuko said, ruffling up his hair when Yuri failed to dodge. 

“I know, I know,” he replied apologetically, brushing down his blonde locks, “Sorry, it’s just…” he trailed off, not having a good response.

“It’s fine, don’t mind her,” one of the girls waved her hand, saving him from the situation. “Aw, you’re wearing the scarf!”

“Of course I am, it’s a cool scarf,” Yuri replied, “a friend of mine even wanted to steal it.”

He thought it was Lutz, but he wasn’t completely sure. It’d been a long time since he last saw the triplets, and and he couldn’t really tell them apart yet. He only knew that Axel was already inside with Viktor, and he remembered something about Loop getting her ear pierced, so he made an educated guess and tried to avoid using their names until he was sure he won’t get them mixed up. 

He went inside after accepting Yuuko’s invitation for dinner the next day, and took a seat further up in the fifth row where he could see and hear everything. He spotted Axel almost immediately, doing laps across the ice lazily, following Viktor’s instructions during the warm up. There were about twenty kids there, from the age of five to teenagers, and he saw some of them noticing his presence, pointing at him, whispering to each other. He lifted a hand to say hi and Axel’s face lit up with a wide grin, waving with both arms.

Yuri used to hate summer camps. He didn’t like skating with so many other kids on the ice, most of them much below his level, even those who were older than him. The others loved the group activities, making new friends but he was only there to practice, to improve his skills so he could get even better. For the most part he just ignored everyone, quickly forgetting their names and focusing only on himself. That’s why he was never able to recall his first meeting with Otabek, even though Yuri had made him tell everything about it more than once. He just couldn’t remember, no matter how hard he tried. 

He even searched for pictures taken during that one camp, collecting every photo Yakov and his grandpa had, and he examined each one carefully to kickstart his brain. In some of them he spotted a boy in the background, older than the rest of them, with messy black hair that stuck to his forehead and chocolate brown eyes with the look of a soldier that matched his own, but his memories failed him.

Sometimes he wondered if things would have turned out differently if ten-year-old him had paid attention to the junior among the novice kids. If they had grown up being friends from the start, fighting their way through the different divisions together, helping each other along the way. If Beka had known him even better, he would have noticed how Yuri felt about him and it might have had been mutual. Or maybe he wouldn’t have fallen in love with Otabek at all, although Yuri couldn’t imagine a world where that didn’t happen. 

Viktor’s voice yanked him back to reality and he turned his attention to the skaters again before he quickly checked his messages one more time. There was still nothing, Otabek hadn’t been looking for him at all. He let out one frustrating sigh and tried to focus on Axel instead, watching as she practiced some spins with a guy who Yuri assumed was her partner. They slowed down to exchange a few words which made them both laugh and they stumbled slightly, holding onto each other. 

“Yurio,” he heard his name and a second later Yuuri sat down next to him, lacing his skates. He looked a bit surprised to see him there, and Yuri had a sudden suspicion that he was the reason Yuuri stayed at home everyday so far. “I didn’t realize you were coming today.”

“I wanted to see Axel skate,” he said, settling for the least difficult explanation. He was watching Yuuri tightening the laces, moving his ankles to see if it was done properly when an idea struck him and he stood up, swallowing before he talked. His voice was shaking a little, and he rushed through the sentence, hoping that he hadn’t given enough time for Yuuri to notice that. “Actually, I’m gonna join you guys too, I’ll get a pair from Yuuko.”

He ran down the stairs before Yuuri had a chance to reply, not even looking back to see his reaction. He wasn’t sure what made him more nervous, the fact that he just decided to skate without thinking it through, or the looks on people’s faces, the shocked expressions he was most definitely going to see. His heart was beating so fast in his chest, it made the surrounding noises fade over the loud drumming in his ears, and his hands were trembling when he reached out to take the worn-down rental skates. Yuuko didn’t say anything, but her eyes were huge and bright, and Yuri had to repeat his request twice, tapping with his fingers as he grew more and more impatient. 

He held the skates in his hands gingerly, staring at the blades with hesitation as he walked back to the rink. He stopped there, drawing a shivery breath, and found himself unable to move, looking at the skates as if those could remove his doubts, even if he hadn’t yet figured out what they were and why he had them. 

He knew the ice. He grew up on it. He was three years old when he started and he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t know how to skate. It used to feel more natural to him than walking, and just because he missed three and a half years that didn’t just vanish.

He traced the edge of the blade with his thumb, careful not to cut himself. They were good skates, old, used and probably cheaper than anything Yuri had ever had, but at the moment he thought they were perfect. So what was his problem? Why was he suddenly afraid? He took a deep, shuddered breath again, but still felt his chest tighten, like he couldn’t breathe deeply enough to get the oxygen he needed, like there was a weight sitting on his lungs, preventing them from taking in enough air. He raised his head, eyes fixed on the ice in front of him, and he jumped a little when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Yurio,” it was Yuuri again, gently pulling on his shoulder so he could lock eyes with him, “are you… is everything alright?”

He teared his gaze away from the kids doing laps, skating across the ice like they were born there, and he felt a lump in his throat pushing down towards his stomach with a low, but steady pressure. He looked at Yuuri helplessly, trying to find the words to say something, _anything_. He wasn’t sure how he was going to reply, from reassuring him that he was fine to screaming from the top of his lungs until he ran out of breath. 

“Yurio,” Yuuri grabbed his other shoulder too, turning to face him completely, “Yuri, breathe. Look at me!”

From the corner of his eyes he saw movement, a flash of silver hair and wide blue eyes filled with worry but Yuuri shook his head, signaling Viktor to stay there. Yuri’s eyes travelled from the skates to Viktor and then to the kids again, trying to see if anyone else had noticed, if all of them were watching, pointing fingers, or maybe even taking pictures, because _wow, look at him, that’s the olympic champion Yuri Plisetsky, having a breakdown, he can’t even put on skates anymore…_

“Yuri,” two hands were holding him up by his arms and he blinked, trying to focus on the face in front of him. Yuuri was calm, there were no traces of concern, curiosity or mockery, just concentration as he kept his voice calm and relaxed too. “Come on, let’s breathe together. In and out, just like this.”

The skates weren’t in his hands anymore but he wasn’t sure where they were now or when they were taken from him. Yuuri took his hand and put his palm over his own chest, and he felt it slowly rise and fall under his touch. He closed his eyes and tried to match his breathing to Yuuri’s, inhaling deeply. 

In and out, in and out. Breathe in counting to five, exhale. Yuuri was talking him through it the whole time, quietly but with an unwavering confidence in his voice and Yuri blinked slowly, raising his head and staring at the japanese man with wide eyes.

“I, uh…” What was he supposed to say? He faltered, letting go of the other man’s training shirt.

“It’s okay, you’re fine, you’re okay,” Yuuri kept repeating the same words over and over again and Yuri stepped away, letting his hands fall.

“I can’t do this.”

He turned on his heels and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! I know, it's completely Otabek-less, it hurt me too. But!! Things to look forward to in the very next chapter:
> 
> 1\. A very important conversation with Viktor - because come on, it's his time to be a dad, Yuuri did what he could.  
> 2\. ......Eh, spoilers, I can't tell you. Okay, just this: finally some insight to how Otabek felt when their friendship ended.


	9. Part 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Viktor didn’t move, didn’t say anything, he was just standing there waiting, and it made Yuri want to reach out and shake him, kick him, do whatever he had to do to make him understand_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, writing this was... _wild_. 
> 
> I still couldn't fit everything I wanted in this chapter, but we reached an important milestone, and the good news is, that in the next one Yuri finally goes back to Saint Petersburg. It was about time. 
> 
> I hope you'll like this one, if you have any thoughts you'd like to share, you know what to do. :) I live for your feedback, guys, seriously, they mean the world, and I want to thank you all, even if I never get another comment on this story, I want you all to know that I often reread the ones I got when I'm having a hard time writing. 
> 
> Sorry. I literally finished this chapter a few minutes ago and now I'm emotional. I'll stop talking now. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Yuri threw the door open and stopped right on the top of the stairs. He was panting hard as he leaned down, supporting his weight with his hands on his knees. He felt sick. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the nausea to pass and he grabbed the railing with one hand, holding himself up to ease the pressure on his trembling legs. His stomach turned unpleasantly and he groaned, wondering if this was really happening, if he was actually going to throw up, like whatever happened to him inside wasn’t humiliating enough already. 

He raised his other hand to push his hair back from his forehead, and he felt the strands stick to his fingers. His palms were wet and cold, and he let out a quiet ‘ew’, as he wiped them on his trousers, leaving sweaty trails with his fingers. 

He drew short, ragged breaths and he tried to control his limbs, make them stop shaking, the goosebumps on his arms tingling as he shivered. His stomach calmed slowly and he sat down on the stairs, forcing himself to take deeper breaths, just like Yuuri instructed him to. He counted to five as he exhaled, closing his eyes again to prevent more teardrops from following the one that had already made its way down his cheek. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, “fuck.”

He rested his chin in his palms, propping his elbows up on his knees and glared at the empty road in front of him, leading up to Hasetsu Castle on top of the hill. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, hoping that he’d have a few more minutes to relax before they find him. Escaping through the back door wasn’t a bad idea but eventually they would remember to look for him there too, and Yuri lifted his head, trying to gain enough energy to get up and go somewhere else.

He didn’t move a finger, and instead just sighed, cursing again quietly. He really thought he was ready to put on skates again. He could hold conversations about skating without the tight clench in his stomach, and he watched recordings of entire programs, giving advice on how to improve certain parts. Hell, he’d been to his old home rink more than once and saw an actual, real training with kids that reminded him of himself and his rinkmates, and he didn’t even flinch. He honestly thought he could do this. Lately he had often caught himself thinking about that choreography he had for his grandpa, the one he never got to skate but saw so clearly in his mind, and he hoped he would be able to try it here, in Hasetsu. There would have been something so poetic about it, skating for his grandpa for the last time on the same ice where he skated for him when he was fifteen. 

He felt the tears collecting in the corner of his eyes again and he let out a frustrated growl, rubbing them furiously to stop crying. Once again, he had failed his grandfather. The only thing he had to do was to take the first step, to lift his foot and place it on the ice, and he knew the rest wouldn’t have been a problem. But in that moment it felt impossible and he couldn’t do it.

He pushed the memory of his panic attack away, pressing his knuckles to his temples in a desperate attempt to find something else to think of. He didn’t want to analyze it, he wasn’t interested in what went wrong, at least not right then and there, not five minutes after it happened. He needed time to cool down.

It didn’t prove to be the best idea because that just made room in his mind for another thought he wasn’t particularly fond of at the moment. He reached in his pocket and his fingers closed around his phone, hesitating for a second before pulling it out and unlocking it. 

There were no new messages. He glared at the screen like he could blame it for the lack of contact from the one person he longed to hear from. He knew it was selfish, but he wanted Otabek to know what happened, he wanted him to be worried, to feel the one thing Yuri accused him of feeling: guilt, for not being there for him. 

He wanted him to _care_. Anything would have been enough, just one text, or two minutes on the phone with him, just to hear him say his name, hear that deep, soothing voice telling him that he was going to be okay, that he was going to get through this. 

He tried to imagine what Otabek would say and realized that it probably wouldn’t be the same thing he’d been telling himself. No, he knew Beka like the back of his hand, and he wouldn’t tell him that he could handle it, that he could go out there and skate again, that he was strong enough. Yuri pictured his face in his mind, his deep, dark gaze on him, like he could see into his soul, the slight tilt of his head as he examined him, and he heard the words Otabek would tell him if he were there.

_You don’t have to._

Yuri laughed out loud, only one short, bitter bark and he put his phone back in his pocket. Yeah, that’s exactly what Otabek would say. That he didn’t have to be strong enough if he didn’t want to. That no one was forcing him to go back on the ice, and if this was enough for him then it was okay to stop here. But it wasn’t enough, talking about skating and watching it, not anymore. Now that he managed to take the first few steps, he was determined to go all the way. 

He heard the soft click of the door behind him and he wiped his face with his sleeves hurriedly, letting out one last quiet sniffle. He tilted his head down, brushing his hair forward to hide his profile and he waited. He heard careful, hesitant footsteps approaching him on the stairs and someone sat down next to him, someone who, judging by the pair of small, white sneakers he saw through the curtain of blonde strands, wasn’t Yuuri or Viktor.

And then silence. The person didn’t speak, just sat quietly beside him, not moving an inch closer to him, not trying to talk or give any signs of even noticing him. Yuri heard the crinkle of tin foil and risked a peek from behind his hair, only to see a pair of hands unwrapping a small sandwhich. His companion dropped the tin foil back in the plastic lunch box and started eating, still showing exactly zero indication to talk or acknowledge Yuri’s presence at all. Soon, his curiosity got the better of him and he tucked his hair behind his ear, casting a careful glance at her direction.

Axel wasn’t even looking at him, she seemed busy eating and tapping on her phone. Her face was completely neutral, and relaxed, so much so that Yuri felt like he was the one who was intruding when he talked.

“Is it lunchbreak already?” he asked, trying to break the silence.

“Yeah, a bit earlier than usual.” She took another bite, stretching her legs in front of her and crossing her ankles. “Do you want some?”

“Ew, no,” Yuri made a face, “I’m not eating your leftover sandwhich.”

“Right, sorry,” she frowned and turned back to her food, keeping her eyes on her lunchbox. She floundered, embarrassed, her cheeks painted light pink as she ate. Yuri almost felt sorry for her.

“You’re really good, you know,” he decided to say, “Need to work on your edges a bit but your spins are impressive.”

“Oh, you saw?” Axel’s eyes lit up and she glanced up at Yuri before she lowered her eyes again. She seemed grateful but self-conscious about the compliment and she gave a slight shrug, followed by half-smile. “Thank you. I’ve heard others say the same, that spins are our strength. Lifts are the hardest,” she added, “but you know, it’s really rewarding when we can finally do it.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Yuri replied, remembering all too well how much he hated when there was something he couldn’t do right away, how he gritted his teeth and kept working on it until it was perfect. Oddly, for him it was always the quad salchow and it didn’t help that it was considered to be one of the easiest quads. 

Axel hummed, not quite knowing what to say to that. Yuri watched her as she fiddled with her sandwich, putting it back into the box, staring at her hands, and wondered if he was the reason she seemed so uncomfortable. Maybe she accidentally found him and felt too awkward to leave him alone, taking it up on herself to cheer him up or keep him company.

Well, he didn’t need another person to spend time with him only to make him feel better. He had Otabek for that.

“I think I’m gonna go home,” he said, offering her an out. He stood up, expecting to see a flicker of relief on her face but Axel frowned, chewing on her lower lip with a troubled look on her face. She drew in a breath, preparing to say something and had to try twice to get the words out.

“Would you stay here with me? Just for a little bit longer?” she asked, gripping her lunchbox a little tighter, her shoulders clenched and bent forward. 

“Don’t you want to go back inside to your friends?” Yuri raised an eyebrow but sat back down, watching her as she shrugged again, avoiding his eyes.

“You’re my friend,” she said quietly, “I mean, I don’t really know anyone here, except for Koshiro, of course.”

“Your partner?”

“Yeah, but,” Axel’s voice wavered, her cheeks turning redder than before, “he’s really good at making friends, and I don’t know, I just… it’s nicer out here. Less loud.”

“Huh,” Yuri said, and now he was the one at a loss for words. So Axel wasn’t there with him to offer whatever support she thought he needed now. In fact, she just wanted to get away too, find a quiet place to eat her lunch in peace, and happened to escape to the same place Yuri had. He had noticed it before, from the way she moved and interacted with others on the ice, that she grew up to be quite reserved, more introverted than her sisters, not really good at socializing with the kids her age. It was painfully obvious, but also understandable. 

Figure skating could be a lonely sport if you didn’t go out of your way to befriend your rinkmates. He used to be the same, except he wasn’t really bothered by it, and eventually he gave up, letting the others get close when he realized they wouldn’t stop trying. “Okay. But this partner of yours, you seem to work well together.”

“We do,” Axel agreed, “It’s just weird when we’re around other people, you know?”

“Because you have a crush on him?” Yuri asked casually, only realizing the weight of his question after he said it. Axel’s eyes grew wide, and there was silence for a few seconds before she dropped her shoulders, burying her face in her hands.

“Oh god, is it that obvious?” To Yuri’s surprise, she laughed out, shaking her head. “I mean, am I that transparent?”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think he noticed,” he said, turning his head to look up at the castle again, standing tall and proud on top of the hill. “People never do when it’s them.”

“Do you think I should tell him?” Axel asked with a shy smile, and Yuri snorted, appreciating the irony of that question being asked of him of all people. “I don’t want it to ruin everything. My career depends on this.”

“It’s your decision, but take it from me” he replied, turning to her with his most sincere expression possible, letting all the masks fall, “if you don’t tell him, that could ruin everything too.”

Sure enough, Axel had more on the line here than a friendship, being dance partners with the guy, but Yuri knew from experience that repressing her feelings could very well leave its mark on her performances too. He made a stupid decision when he was twenty, missed a chance he would probably never get again, and he didn’t want Axel to waste years of her life wondering if she should have said anything. If their relationship was really that great, then even if that Koshiro guy didn’t return her feelings, they would learn to work with it. They would move on, and eventually Axel could figure out if that was good enough for her or not. At least she wouldn’t have to live in doubt. 

“Yeah, easier said than done,” she rolled her eyes when Yuri told her all this, but smiled at him after, grateful for the advice. “You’ve gotten wise.”

“Wise, my ass,” he said, “I just made my fair share of mistakes.”

Axel glanced at her phone and sighed, turning to bump her forehead against Yuri’s shoulder.

“I have to go back,” she said. “Thanks for staying here with me.”

“Anytime,” Yuri waited until she got up from the stairs before he spoke again. “Hey, would you tell Viktor and Yuuri that you ran into me and I’m fine? I don’t want them to worry, I’m just gonna go home and meet them there, okay?”

She smiled, glancing back with her hand on the doorknob, her small, brown eyes glinting with a knowing look.

“I texted them when I found you here.”

 

  
He left after that, taking the long way around the city, walking on the beach and snapping pictures of the scenery and the buildings. It was a nice distraction, and he still wanted to upload something to his instagram, feeling the level of pettiness rise in him like it did when he was younger. Pettiness over Otabek, because Yuri still hadn’t heard about him, and he wanted to remind him of his existence, and pettiness towards the fans because they blew the whole internet up over a few pictures and he wanted to respond with something that left them with absolutely _nothing_. A completely meaningless post, maybe a picture without him even in it, with no statements or comments or tags that refer to the leaked photos from a few days ago. He would share it on all of his social media pages from Twitter to Facebook with no additional explanation at all. 

It was childish, definitely. It was something the old and buried Yuri Plisetsky would have done, but he had fun with it, plotting the best way to get back to those who took that perfect day with Beka and turned it into an unpleasant memory. 

He only had one shot to choose the perfect picture, and just to be safe, he took at least a hundred photos all over Hasetsu, before he realized he wasn’t going to need any of them. The idea struck him like lightning, and he turned around to take off in the opposite direction, hoping he could find the place, more than seven years after he’d last been there.

If he were to find it again, it would be the perfect post for both pissing off his fans and sending a message to Otabek. He was positive that Beka would recognize it, since they had only come to Hasetsu together twice in those five years. They found the place during their first trip and returned to it on the second one. Their off-season meetings were rare and special, and Yuri just knew that Otabek couldn’t have possibly forgotten about it. 

He ran back to Ice Castle across the bridge and took the road next to the rink, leading up to the hill behind the building. If his memories hadn’t failed him, he had to turn right at the first path that was almost completely hidden under the crowd of trees. To his surprise, he found it easily, it was still there, looking exactly like it did all those years ago, and he bent down a few times to avoid his hair getting caught up in the lower branches. He walked until he reached the narrow stream cutting the tiny clearing in half, and he carefully stepped on one of the bigger rocks in the middle to jump to the other side. 

He smirked at the memory of the very first time he did this, with Beka following him closely and slipping on a rock, getting his shoes soaking wet in the ankle-deep watercourse. It was the first time he saw him completely let go of that all-serious, badass and stoic aesthetic he showed to the public as he laughed out loud with his head thrown back and his shoulders dropped, before he bent down to take off his shoes. With one easy fling of his arm he casually threw them onto the grass, sending his socks right after, and he tapped his naked feet in the water like a child, wearing the brightest smile Yuri had ever seen on his face. 

That was also the first time Yuri was hit with the sudden realization that he really wanted to kiss him. 

There was a large tree right next to them, with roots that spread above the ground in every direction, and they agreed that it looked like an octopus, reaching far with its tentacles, breaking the straight line of the stream. It’s short, wide trunk separated into three main branches close to ground, and they climbed up, sitting on the one that leaned over the water. They stayed there for a long time, talking about everything and nothing, discussing what they wanted to do in the future. 

He told Otabek about his rock solid, well-thought-out plan to retire when he was twenty-six, just after winning his third Olympic games, thus becoming the first three-time gold medalist figure skater in the men’s field since the 1920s. He half expected Beka to laugh or point out how small his chances were to do that, but he just nodded and promised to put up a good fight, not making it that easy for him. 

Yuri was sixteen, and in that moment he had fallen in love with his best friend.

He tore his eyes away from the tree, forcing himself to return to the sad reality that was his life now, nine years after that conversation happened. He let his lips draw a bitter smile on his face as he thought about how naive and overconfident he was, and how lucky that he hadn’t known at the time just how different his future was going to be. He turned around to look for an ideal spot and decided to walk a bit further so he could include both the top of the tree and the watercourse in the photo. He stopped at the far end of the clearing, kneeling on the grass to find the best angle and took a few pictures.

He remained like that for a few more seconds, just drinking in the sight, trying to ignore how ridiculous and pathetic he must have looked, staring longingly at a tree, mourning a future he never had. 

He didn’t upload the picture until he was home, safely tucked in his bed wearing his pyjamas with the curtains pulled shut. He was right, it was a great way to distract himself from everything that had happened in the morning, and he felt himself relax a bit as he wondered what people will think when they see it. His first post, after years of silence on all of his official social media sites, and it was a photo of a fucking tree with no location tag or any comment whatsoever. No one would be able to figure out what it meant, except for Otabek, who was going to recognize it instantly and hopefully get the message Yuri was trying send with it. 

_I’m sorry. I’m coming back._

He resisted the urge to keep the phone in his hands to refresh the page every five seconds after he hit ‘Post’ and instead, he turned the wifi off and pulled the comforter up to his neck. He fell into restless sleep quickly, his body and mind exhausted and grateful for the silence around him. 

The next time he opened his eyes, it was already dark outside, and he lied in bed for a few seconds, wondering what woke him up. He was just about to reach for his phone when he heard soft knocking and he sat up, rubbing his eyes and stretching a bit, smoothing down his t-shirt to try and make himself look presentable. 

“What,” his voice sounded hoarse so he cleared his throat. The slide door opened and Viktor poked his head in the room carefully before he stepped in with a tray in his hand. One look at his face told Yuri that he probably looked worse than he thought. Great. He just took a nap to avoid dealing with his problems and Viktor was certainly going to call him out on it.

“I don’t know if you had anything to eat,” he said, while he put the tray down to the nightstand. He took a seat on the floor, crossing his legs and pulled one of the plates in his lap. “But I brought dinner, if you’re hungry. It’s katsudon.”

“Of course it is,” Yuri rolled his eyes but took the tray anyway, “can you even cook anything else?”

“I can,” Viktor replied with a small smirk playing on his lips, “Yuuri can’t. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Yuri frowned, feeling a bit confused and slow, his brain still half asleep after napping all day.

“That was a joke,” Viktor added, seeing his face, “you can tell him, he knows anyway.”

He only hummed, having his mouth full with rice. Even if he couldn’t cook anything else, Yuuri made the most perfect pork cutlet bowl in the world, and Yuri wondered if he had ever told him that. He probably hadn’t. He didn’t compliment others easily, and that was another thing he thought he should change. 

“I missed this,” he admitted quietly, “he makes a damn good katsudon.”

“He does,” Viktor’s eyes lit up as he watched him take another huge bite of the pork and he let out a short laugh. “Although you might want to slow down a little, you’ll suffocate.”

“I’ll die a happy death,” Yuri said, his words muffled by all the food he tried to keep in and he quickly swallowed it so he could ask something. It was a good way to stall, since he wasn’t keen on discussing what happened in the morning, but he was also genuinely curious about it, had been ever since he arrived to Hasetsu and saw the life they built together. It was perfect, loving and harmonic, with only one tiny detail that stood out to him, one thing he thought was missing. “Can I ask you a question?”

Viktor raised an eyebrow and nodded, waiting for him to continue. 

“How come you guys don’t have children?”

In hindsight, the question was rather intrusive, but he found it odd that there was no mention of even planning to have kids in the Katsuki-Nikiforov household. Yuri thought that by now they would have at least two or three, all tiny Viktors and Yuuris, learning to skate before they could even walk properly and speaking a weird mix of Japanese and Russian no one else would be able to understand. He could see himself coming to visit and being surrounded by the little brats, teaching them words their parents would definitely not approve of, letting them follow him around until they pissed him off with their crying and giggling and yelling. 

They probably would have annoyed him to death, but it was still a nice mental image. 

Viktor blinked and drew in a breath, but otherwise his expression remained completely neutral, and he shot a smile in his direction as he replied.

“We don’t have time. We both have our own skaters to coach, so during the season we travel a lot,” he shrugged, still smiling, “neither of us can afford staying home for months.”

Yuri stared at him. He wasn’t sure how to nicely word his opinion so he stayed quiet for a while, debating whether or not he should even say anything. He thought Viktor’s smile would falter seeing his reaction, but it didn’t, and he stared and stared, until he couldn’t _not_ say anything anymore.

“That’s one of the most bullshit answers I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”

Viktor’s eyebrows shot up with surprise, his innocent smile still unwavering. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Yuri growled, narrowing his eyes, “but don’t feed me the same fake shit you tell journalists.”

He turned back to his food and considered the matter closed. He wasn’t offended that they didn’t want to talk about it, it was their business, and even though it surprised him, he supposed it was fair. The blatant lie on the other hand was a whole other story, he never expected Viktor to try and sell him a lame excuse instead of admitting that he didn’t want to answer. He was just about to ask him to leave when Viktor spoke quietly, breaking the heavy silence that fell between them. 

“Yuuri’s not sure.”

He didn’t need to see Viktor’s face to know he was telling the truth this time, but he looked up anyway and traced the deep lines on his forehead, his lowered eyes and the smile that got smaller and more honest. His otherwise nonchalant voice was shadowed by the kind of heaviness Yuri felt when he talked about his grandpa. 

“Of what? Wanting kids? With you? Come on.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, guessing that it would have been inappropriate, but he couldn’t stop the frown that was forming between his eyebrows. Was Yuuri having doubts about their future with Viktor?

“No, I think,” Viktor sighed, putting his own plate back on the nightstand, “I think he’s scared. Point is, he’s not ready and this isn’t something I would ever pressure him into doing anyway, so…” he shrugged, lips drawing into a thin line, “it is what it is.”

“But you want a family, right?” 

Viktor looked up, stubbornly returning his gaze.

“Yuuri is my family,” he said in a stern voice. “And I love him more than anything, more than I love a child that doesn’t exist yet and may never will.”

Yuri wanted to reply, show his support or ask more questions about his plans but Viktor made him stop with one sharp look, and he closed his mouth, deciding that maybe it was best to stay out of it. 

“Okay. I get it.” Yuri leaned back on the bed and took a deep breath, understanding that he had to let this go. It wasn’t the time or the place to discuss this, and he definitely wasn’t the most ideal person to have this conversation with, not to mention that Viktor certainly hadn’t knocked on his door for this. “Anyway, um. I’m really sorry about this morning.”

“Why?” Viktor asked, tilting his head, grateful for the change of subject. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, but still. I made a scene in front of all those kids, and I shouldn’t have.”

“You shouldn’t have tried to skate at all.” Yuri jerked his head up and his eyes widened in shock. Viktor’s words made his stomach drop, and he lowered his head in shame, hiding his eyes that immediately swelled with tears after hearing his response. 

He didn’t expect that reaction, but maybe Viktor was right. Maybe it was foolish of him to think that he could ever step on the ice again. He clenched his fist, his fingers digging into the comforter around him. He was not going to cry, not right now, not in front of Viktor, not because of a single sentence that only confirmed what he had already thought himself.

He heard rather than saw Viktor move, and he didn’t raise his head until he heard his voice again, calling his name. 

“Come with me.” 

“Where?” Yuri frowned but he was already getting up, wondering if he’d need to get dressed for whatever dumb idea Viktor got in his head to cheer him up.

“To the rink, of course,” Viktor said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re going to skate.”

Yuri stopped and raised an eyebrow, glancing out the window at the dark sky.

“It’s closed.” 

“Oh, really? I didn’t know. Hmm, I wish we knew a world famous figure skater who might have a key...” He pretended to think, tapping his index finger against his chin before his face broke into a wide grin. “Oh wait, I’m married to one.”

This time, Yuri did roll his eyes at him, but quickly gathered his things and in a few minutes he joined Viktor outside, ready to leave. He watched as he said said goodbye to his husband, pressing a soft kiss in the crook of Yuuri’s neck, and he thought of Otabek, wondering if he’d ever have something like this. He cast his eyes down when Viktor turned around, waving to follow him. 

 

 

“Like I said,” Viktor spoke with a smile, but his voice lacked the cheerful tone Yuri was used to, “you shouldn’t have tried to skate like that. There were too many people around, all watching, waiting to see you skate, and you only did it to prove something to them. That’s not the right way to return, Yurio.”

“Yuri.” He only muttered this quietly, correcting him out of habit, rather than being annoyed by the nickname. Viktor went on, ignoring his remark.

“You were afraid of the ice, and I want you to tell me why.”

They were standing at the gate of the rink, with dim light glimmering through the windows, painting shades of blue and grey on the ice in front of them. Yuri had already put his skates on, after willing his trembling fingers to stay still, and he stood on the blades, curiously shifting his weight from one leg to another, getting used to the old, but familiar feeling. He took deep breaths as he held his head high and kept his back straight. He felt like he was preparing for a battle, only he wasn’t sure if he was battling the ice or himself.

“I’m not. I wasn’t afraid.” He wasn’t looking at Viktor because he didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not, and he didn’t want him to find out before he did. His mind tried to convince him that he had no reason to be scared, this was his home, the rink, the place where he used to be safe and comfortable and _the best_. But the weight in his stomach told a different story, and he clenched his jaw, trying not to give in to that feeling.

“Yes you were, and you are. So tell me.” Viktor turned to him, examining his expression and posture with a slight tilt of his head. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not fucking afraid,” Yuri gritted his teeth and opened the gate, ready to go out there and show that he wasn’t. He was stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder, holding him back, making him turn too so they would face each other. Viktor gave him a stern but soft look, understanding but clearly set on getting an answer to his question.

“You need to admit it, Yuri. Why are you afraid of the ice?” 

“I’m not, I can do this!” His voice echoed in the empty arena, making it louder than he intended and Viktor nodded with approval.

“We’re getting somewhere. Are you afraid you can’t do it?”

“Fucking hell,” Yuri shook his head and brought up his hand to put his palm over his eyes, turning his back on him, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I can, I can do it.”

“What happens if you can’t?” Viktor spoke to him in a low voice, still quiet and kind despite Yuri’s impatient replies and cursing.

“That’s not an option.”

“Why isn’t that an option?” Viktor’s insistent questions finally pushed him over the edge and Yuri swung around on the blades furiously, clenching his fists.

“Because I have nothing else!” he yelled, drawing a sharp breath that broke the silence following his words. Viktor didn’t move, didn’t say anything, he was just standing there waiting, and it made Yuri want to reach out and shake him, kick him, do whatever he had to do to make him _understand_. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. I can’t go out there only to find out that I don’t know how to do it anymore, I ca…” the words got stuck in his throat and he looked at the other man helplessly, lowering his voice. “Viktor, what if I forgot how to skate?”

He didn’t look away, didn’t close his eyes, didn’t even blink. He needed to see every tiny change in his expression, everything that could point to a possible answer, and for a few moments, neither of them moved or said anything at all. 

Until Viktor smiled and pulled the gate open, entering the rink with one effortless step.

“Then you’ll learn again.” He lifted a hand and offered it to him, and Yuri noticed how his fingers weren’t shaking at all. He seemed absolutely sure that he was right, and Yuri desperately wanted to believe him.

“You make it sound so easy,” he said, his mouth narrowing into a thin line as he bit down on his lips, his blood racing in his veins and his heart beating so fast and hard that it almost hurt.

“It’s that easy.”

_No, it’s not_ , he wanted to say but he couldn’t quite get the words right as he stood outside the rink, his eyes moving from Viktor’s face to the extended hand between them. It couldn’t have been that easy, because that would mean he only had to take one step, one small move of his legs to get him going, and there were no more excuses left if he failed to do it. Nothing to hide behind, nothing to protect himself with. The ice was cruel that way, brutally honest regarding his ability to tame it, and Yuri felt his heart beating in his throat as he looked across it, wondering if there’d ever come a time he felt he was fully prepared to find out. 

Maybe not. Maybe he would always be afraid and it was better to seek answers like this, with only a narrow stream of pale moonlight shining in the middle of the ice rink and gentle darkness wrapping around him like a blanket.

“For what it’s worth,” he said as he raised his arm and stepped closer, “I think Yuuri would be a great dad. And so would you.”

Viktor huffed, a small, grateful smile spreading on his face, making the laugh lines around the corner of his lips visible.

“I think so too.”

He took the hand offered to him and lifted his left foot, placing it carefully just inside the gate. His breath hitched in his throat as the other blade hit the ice too and he pushed himself away from the wall surrounding the rink, taking a few tentative slides towards the other man. He turned around, crossing his feet and his fingers slipped out of Viktor’s palm as he slowly moved further away from the boards. He heard the quiet scraping he left behind as he pushed forward, and it sounded like music to his ears, notes he wrote on the ice himself, bringing himself back to life with each movement. He made a bracket turn, skating backwards and raised his head, locking eyes with Viktor who watched him silently from the gate, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Yuri grinned back at him. 

He experimented by speeding up a little, skating around in small circles in the middle of the rink, watching in awe as the blades left long, straight lines wherever he went. His breathing became faster again until he couldn’t stop the bubbles of laughter rising in his chest, and he lifted both of his arms sideways, while expanding the circles wider until he skated from wall to wall, doing laps across the whole rink. 

He laughed out loud and took counter turns skating on one leg, enjoying the way his hair brushed against his face with each light spin, the cold air painting pink spots on the tips of his ears, caressing the skin on his cheeks. It was the greeting of an old friend, a long lost feeling found and revived, a series of familiar movements his muscles barely remembered as he felt them flex and loosen each time he pushed his legs back, and he looked over his shoulders, watching the rink lying behind his back, inviting him to discover every part of it, to scratch the surface by drawing new lines and lobes until there wasn’t a single millimeter Yuri Plisetsky hadn’t skated across. 

He was alive.

He vaguely registered Viktor leaving the ice quietly, taking a seat close to the gate in the first row, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything as he felt the blades, _his blades_ gliding forward smoothly, leading exactly where Yuri wanted them to lead. His eyes fluttered shut and he bent one of his knees, turning his feet so he slid across the ice in an Ina Bauer with his back kept straight. He was just getting used to the same moves again, chasing the memories with his muscles after three and a half years of repressing them, settling back into the old habits, every slide and turn feeling like coming home. He tried forward and backward twizzles and then stopped in the centre of the rink to do a few easier spins, feeling his confidence slowly build up. He got this. 

He risked lifting his leg up in an arabesque and felt his hamstrings burn immediately from the lack of warm up and the fact that he hadn’t done this in years, but he pushed through the pain with gritted teeth, determined to make this tiny detail in his mind come to life, the fragment of an almost forgotten choreography he never got to skate for his grandpa. 

He turned on his blade while trying to keep his free leg straight, raising his arms above his head then bringing them down again, lowering his head too. He sped up, skating backwards and without thinking too much about it, he lifted his right leg, slammed his toe pick into the ice and lunged himself in the air in what was supposed to be a flip.

It was all kinds of wrong, he felt it right away. He jumped from a flat edge, with not nearly enough strength, and started the rotation with his upper body, relying on its momentum instead of his legs. He crashed into the ice a second after his blade hit the ground, sliding out from under him, and he fell on his side, his arm and shoulder taking most of the hit.

His breath got knocked out of him and he squeezed his eyes shut, instinctively focusing on the pain first to locate it and determine how bad it was. He rolled his shoulder back and forth and lifted his arm, bending his elbow, and he could feel that it was nothing serious, the pain had already started to pass. 

The bruises on his pride were probably much worse. He remained kneeling on the ice with his eyes shut, taking shallow, shivery breaths as he tried to wrap his head around what just happened. His palms were freezing, taking a bright red colour and he clenched his fists, pressing his knuckles against the ice until it hurt.

“Get up.” Viktor’s voice from the side yanked him back to the present and he blinked a few times until his blurry vision cleared completely, bringing the scratched ice back into focus. “Try again.”

He shook his head, unable to answer.

“Yuri, stand up,” he sounded like a strict coach, someone who won’t take no for an answer, and Yuri didn’t have the energy to talk back. He felt drained, and so he pushed himself up, exhaustion slowing down his limbs, his shoulders dropped and his head hung. “Now, try again.”

“No.” 

That was all he could say, and he didn’t even look at Viktor as he dragged himself across the ice to the gate, dropping down on the nearest seat as soon as he was out of the rink. He tried to slow his breathing to control his racing heart, and promptly ignored Viktor who came to stand in front of him. 

“This is exactly what you did wrong earlier today,” he said, and Yuri just sighed, too tired to even get mad at him now. He took off the borrowed skates, placing them against his chair, all while refusing to return the gentle gaze on him. “You wanted everything all at once, it doesn’t work like that.”

“I only went for a double.” His voice was barely above a whisper, struggling to admit that he couldn’t even land that, even though the rational part of his mind kept reminding him that it was completely normal. People usually had a hard time with jumps even after missing a few months, let alone three years. But he wasn’t just anyone, he was Yuri Plisetsky, and the flip was something he used to be able to do in his sleep.

“Yuri,” Viktor sat down next to him, lowering his head too to search for his eyes. “This isn’t like riding a bike. You can’t just pick up where you left off, you have to relearn everything, and you’re going to have to work for it. Hard.”

He felt his whole body shaking, from his chest to the tips of his fingers, and his stomach clenched, making it more difficult to relax his muscles. 

“What if things can never go back to the way they were?” he asked with his throat tight and he pressed his lips together, swallowing hard as he waited for Viktor to answer.

“Maybe they can’t. But different doesn’t necessarily mean worse. You abandoned this part of your life for years, and you will have to fight if you want to get it back. It’s not gonna be easy, there will be setbacks, difficult days when you’d rather give up, days when you feel like you’re not making any progress at all, but if you push through those, you can do it.”

Progress. The word woke something up in Yuri and he sniffled quietly, letting out a long breath that left his lips trembling. The ice wasn’t the only friend he lost years ago, wasn’t the only thing waiting for him to return. He felt like he was running an endless marathon, with the finish line only a few meters in front of him that kept getting further and further, just out of his reach, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep chasing it until he lost sight of it forever.

“And if it’s not enough? If I’m fighting alone for something that’s… bigger than me? That takes more than just me?”

Silence fell around them again, and he looked up at the warm blue eyes, Viktor smiling back at him and casting a quick glance to the seat next to them. Yuri followed his eyes only to see his bag lying on the chair, his silenced phone thrown on the top of his backpack.

“Like I said, it’s not gonna be easy, and you have to relearn everything, build it up from the start. But you’re not fighting alone. In fact, I think he’s been fighting much longer than you know.” Viktor stood up, reaching for his own duffle bag, swinging it around his back with one easy move. “Just watch a few of his programs. I recommend starting with the Olympics.”


	10. Part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I always thought we were alike."_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Back then Yuri had no idea how much truth there was in that sentence. They were both committed to their own battles on the ice, battles that only lasted for a few minutes, so little time to prove themselves and yet, the risk of failure was always high. Yuri used to think that he lost that war three years ago, but he was starting to realize that maybe he’d been just fighting on the wrong front all this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 10 is coming up!
> 
> This chapter is basically the one that sets things up for the big finale, making Yuri's character development almost complete. I hope you're going to enjoy it, I loved writing it, that's for sure.
> 
> Also, this chapter was supposed to be entirely different, and I struggled a lot with the previous version before I decided to drop the whole thing and start again. Man, that was hard, I had like 3.5k ready. So I'd like to thank my squad for helping me through that, [Nemamka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemamka/pseuds/Nemamka), [metalkiralylany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalkiralylany/pseuds/metalkiralylany) and [Nellosel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellosel/pseuds/Nellosel), and you know, just for being awesome people. Also, shoutout to another fellow writer, [Summer_Storm27](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Summer_Storm27/pseuds/Summer_Storm27) for listening to me whine about this and giving me advice! 
> 
> The cut scenes will be uploaded to my tumblr however, because I had fun writing them, I'll finish the last scene in the next few days and update this note when it's up. (It's a farewell scene with Viktor and Yuuri, a reunion scene with Polina aaaand a little something with Anton.)
> 
> I recommend listening to the songs... :)
> 
> Have fun!
> 
> PS: Oh I almost forgot: this chapter has my last keyword! It was 'beauty'.
> 
> Edit: [First](http://kiazareni.tumblr.com/post/161807511480/wtyhf-cut-scenes-part-1) and [second](http://kiazareni.tumblr.com/post/161825381365/wtyhf-cut-scenes-part-2) cut scene

_otabek-altin, phichit+chu and 8039 others liked your picture_

Yuri closed the app and felt the lump in his throat ease up a little, a small bit of the weight vanishing from his shoulders as he spotted Otabek’s name among those who’d seen and liked the post. He got what he wanted, he managed to remind Beka that he wasn’t gone forever and that he remembered, that he wasn’t going to cut him off again. 

He desperately needed him to know that. He wanted to take the first step this time, an impossibly small one at that, but still, for the first time in years, Yuri was the one who reached out to him, the one who refused to let go and leave that unfinished conversation, that illogical, messy fight hanging between them. He refused to let that be the last memory they shared. Because this time, his vacation in Japan wasn’t him running away, as it may have seemed like, it was him finding himself amidst the chaos that became his life. 

And he did, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this, like he was himself again. Yuri Plisetsky. Yuri Plisetsky the person, Yuri Plisetsky the friend, Yuri Plisetsky the skater. When he left Hasetsu, he felt the first few pieces of his soul being restored. It wasn’t finished, not even close, but it was a start. 

He relived the memory of the ice while he was on the plane, carefully picturing every second of it, so not one moment would get lost in the haze of remembering. Putting on skates for the first time in four years felt like coming home, and he treasured every scratch and glide like it was music to his ears as he skated across the rink, leaving traces of himself behind with every move. Ice Castle Hasetsu was marked by Yuri Plisetsky again, and no matter how many times they cleaned the ice with that ancient zamboni, the lines he drew onto the surface were still visible to him. That was the rink that brought him back. 

It was fitting. He appreciated the sentimentality of it, because Hasetsu also marked the place where he first lost against Katsuki Yuuri when he was fifteen and thought he was unbeatable. The world proved him wrong then, and continued to prove him wrong ever since, but the rink had invited him back, reinventing him like it was trying to apologize.

_He’s been fighting much longer than you know._

The words echoed in his mind and he sighed, propping his feet up on the plane, staring out the window. They just announced that they were going to land soon, and Yuri saw the first few orange spots of light peek through the blanket of clouds as they reduced their height slowly. Saint Petersburg was lying beneath his feet and he couldn’t decide if he was happy to return or not. But Otabek was down somewhere in the forest of lights, waiting for him. Hopefully.

He hadn’t seen the videos as Viktor suggested, not yet. He wanted to be alone for that, he had to provide as much time as he needed to prepare himself for it, and to work his way through the programs in his own pace. He had no idea how long it was going to take, but he had a feeling he would have to stop from time to time, just to take a break from all the emotions attacking him upon seeing a competition, seeing Otabek compete, and seeing Otabek. A younger Otabek, not the 28-year-old coach who returned to his life suddenly, whom he had to get to know again, but exactly the friend he left behind when he couldn’t deal with his own feelings. 

He wasn’t ready to see that, but maybe he wouldn’t ever be. Maybe he just needed to face it and learn to live with what he’d done. 

The plane touched the ground and came to a stop half an hour later, and Yuri gathered his things silently, turning off the airplane mode to check the notification again. 

_otabek-altin has liked your picture_

Beka remembered. He saw the post and remembered their time together in Hasetsu, although he probably didn’t know just how much it meant to Yuri. He was oblivious to the fact that Yuri fell in love with him that day, sitting on the branch of a tree next to a narrow stream, watching as small droplets of water made their way down Beka’s feet, dripping onto the grass below them. He had no idea that it was the day Yuri became conscious of the fact that he’d been pining for his friend for all the wrong reasons, the day he realized why his gaze seemed to wander sometimes. 

That day, he stepped through a door that disappeared behind him, making it impossible to turn back. 

The memory of it hurt Yuri so much that it caused an almost physical pain in his chest, and he looked around, suddenly aware of how small and alone he felt in the large baggage claiming area, filled with families, couples and groups of friends waiting together. And he wanted. He wanted so much that for a moment he completely understood his selfish younger self, who decided to shut Otabek out, because he thought it would be easier if he didn’t see him. He wanted to reach out and touch Beka, hold him and be held by him, and having him right by his side made it so difficult that he just couldn’t take it. He couldn’t bear the warm look in his eyes and the way he said his name, the way the ‘r’ rolled off his tongue so softly when he called him _Yura_ , his expression changing into something fond and loving. Sometimes he looked at Yuri like he was the sun itself, quiet adoration glinting in his eyes and Yuri felt a knife turning in his chest when he called him his friend, so he ran. He ran until the memory of his voice faded and he couldn’t recall the feeling of his touch on his skin. 

He would never do that again, he couldn’t. But for a short, surreal moment, alone in the middle of the crowded airport he understood, and he forgave himself. 

_He’s been fighting much longer than you know._

He pulled his suitcase after him, dragging it up the stairs when he finally got home, and left it at the door. He was tired but not sleepy, the time difference making him feel wide awake at around midnight and he went into his bedroom immediately, opening up his laptop. 

Now or never. He couldn’t wait any longer. He threw his phone on his bed without watching, not caring if it bounced off accidentally and stared at the monitor with his heart beating in his throat. He hadn’t seen a competition, not even a recording of it for years but he pushed the aside the anxiety creeping up on him and clicked on youtube, tapping nervously on the desk. 

He searched for Beka’s short program and ignored the way his fingers trembled over the buttons slightly when he saw the picture, a frame from the video in front of him, of Beka standing sideways to the camera in a white shirt that hugged his shoulder tightly. He held his arm up to cover most of his profile, and looked up from under his eyelashes, the depth of emotions in his eyes making Yuri’s heart stop before he clicked on the video. He leaned closer to his laptop, like he wanted to make extra sure he wouldn’t miss a second. 

He watched as Beka received the last words of advice from his coach, the russian commentators speaking over the video making it impossible to hear them. The crowd was cheering loudly as he pushed himself away from the border and raised both of his arms to greet them. He wasn’t smiling, and after he dropped his hands, his expression became even more closed off as he focused on his program with every fiber of his being. Yuri tried to mentally tune out the commentary until he caught a word that made him rewind the video to listen to it again.

 _“Next on the ice is 25-year-old Otabek Altin from Kazakhstan, skating to[Hungarian dance no.11 by Brahms](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WwNjlu3OeVQ). He’s had a strong season so far, having won both of his Grand Prix events and getting the bronze in the Final, so we’ll see where that takes him now. He’s very consistent and the crowd just loves him.”_

Yuri listened to the commentators discussing Beka’s short program, waiting for them to continue. His eyes didn’t leave the screen for a second, watching again as Otabek’s coach squeezed his shoulder, sending him off with one last encouraging smile. 

_“When asked about his short program and what kind of dance it was, he said, I quote, ‘I think it’s a lonely one’. That’s not a very detailed answer so let’s see for ourselves, here is Otabek Altin, from Kazakhstan, fighting for the gold medal in the 2022 Winter Olympics.”_

The melody started slow, pulling Yuri in instantly, and he was glued to his screen as Beka started moving on the ice, skating around the rink, turning perfectly in synch with the music. He’s become one with the song, every inch of his body an instrument to play alongside the piano and he raised a hand, reaching out to the empty space in front of him, pulling his hand back with a half loop, like he just realized that no one was there to take it. 

Yuri was so enthralled by his performance that the first jump completely took him by surprise, the voices of the commentators yanking him back to reality against his will.

_He starts with a perfect quad toe-triple toe combination, going in with no hesitation, and look at that landing! So steady, like it was nothing.”_

He wanted to rewind the video again but he couldn’t even lift a finger and he just gripped his own hand more tightly, digging his nails into the soft flesh under his thumb until it hurt. Otabek launched himself into a sit spin, with one arm extended above his head, and when he stood up, his expression seared himself into Yuri’s mind as he locked eyes with him through the camera. Beka looked away a moment later, skating towards the edge of the rink with an incredible speed, his head hung and his lips pressed together before he suddenly looked up again, turning around and cutting his toepick in the ice. 

Yuri sucked in a breath and let go of his own hand to cover his mouth with his palm. Even though he knew Beka had to do well in both of his programs to get the silver medal, he was almost scared as he watched him stumble a little on his quad flip, saving it last minute without stepping out of it or putting his hand down. The crowd cheered for him in encouragement, and he heard the commentators gasp too, but then the music changed and Beka turned around, seemingly unaffected by the small mistake. 

_”And now the step sequence,”_ one of the commentators announced, _”watch the subtle emotions on his face, it’s amazing, he looks like he’s completely in his own world, unaware that there’s a competition happening!”_

Yuri didn’t think it was amazing. He only knew that he’d never seen so much sadness in those eyes, and in that moment he hated that he could read them so well. To everyone else it might have been just part of the performance but he saw it, the storm of underlying emotions behind the chocolate brown irises that left him shivering in his seat. 

_It was me. I caused this._

It really was a lonely dance, but it was also an invitation. Yuri saw it in the way Beka lifted his arms, the way he carried himself across the rink, and in his eyes, those eyes that always seemed to hold someone’s gaze, someone that wasn’t there. The piano slowed down during the step sequence, the tune becoming more reserved, making way to the strong scratches Beka left behind with his blades, the sounds melting together and creating another song, one that Otabek played for him.

This was him trying. He had no idea that Yuri didn’t follow the competitions, as far as he knew, Yuri was watching, and he reached out to him through his skating because Yuri had left him no other choice. He invited him back in his life, offering his hand, unaware that Yuri had spent this time locked in his room with his phone turned off, burying himself in his bed all day to pretend that the world had stopped around him. 

All while Otabek was fighting for their friendship, _for him_.

_”His last jump is the triple Axel, already in the second half of the program, but he doesn’t look tired at all, and… almost effortlessly, he lands it, of course he does!”_

Yuri let out a long breath and continued to watch as Otabek finished his performance with the last two spins, stopping with one foot behind the other, extending his hand again like he was asking someone to dance. He held his ending position for a few seconds, breathing hard with a barely visible frown between his eyebrows that Yuri wished he could brush away with his lips. 

Beka dropped his arms and turned towards the audince, bowing with a soft smile on his face. It didn’t reach his eyes though, and Yuri thought that’s the kind of smile he never wanted to see again, the one that took him everything to hold in front of the public eye. He skated to the entrance where his coach greeted him with a hug and Yuri waited anxiously for his score to be announced.

104.69

Yuri searched for another video without commentary and watched the program again. He watched it three more times until there wasn’t a single detail left unnoticed by him, and he analyzed the program with the eyes of both the skater and the friend, the subject of its theme until he hated himself for what he did to Otabek. 

 

And then he spotted another video among the recommended ones at the right side of the screen.

It was Beka’s free skate.

The picture showed a close up of his face again, and Yuri’s heart stopped for an entirely different reason than before, because Beka was wearing _eyeliner_ , not too over-the-top but definitely there, beautifully complementing the shape of his eyes. The thin black line was lightly brushed to soften the edges and made his brown irises stand out even more, his intense stare into the camera causing Yuri’s stomach to jump at the sight. He clicked on the video without hesitation.

The same commentators started speaking as they showed short clips of Otabek during his warm-up, doing laps around the rink before he pushed himself away from the ice in a flawless quad flip. This time the landing wasn’t shaky at all, and Yuri thought he saw the tiniest smug smile in the corner of Beka’s mouth as the crowd cheered for him. The video then cut to Otabek standing at the gate, talking to his coach again, just like before the short program. 

_”Going on with the free skate and the last one among the men is Otabek Altin from Kazakhstan. He was first after his almost perfect short program and now he has to do just as well if he wants that gold medal. He needs a better score than his season’s best to beat the flawless free skate we’ve seen from Korea’s Lee Seung-gil, who’s currently in first place.”_

Yuri paused the video and shut his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. If Otabek ended up with the silver, then Seung-gil must have won the gold and he had no idea about that either. His friend was an olympic champion and he never bothered to tell him. 

Although Seung-gil never really seemed to care if he knew these things or not, Yuri took a moment to add this to the long list of things that proved his own selfishness. No wonder Otabek hadn’t told him anything, yet Yuri attacked him for it, like he couldn’t be blamed at all. 

He owed him an apology. Hell, he owed them both one. 

He clicked on the video again, making a mental note to send a message to Seung-gil tomorrow. Beka was different, what happened in the past or how he felt didn’t change the fact that right now he needed space, some time apart to think. Yuri had every intention to respect that, even if the uncertainty slowly killed him. 

He bit down on his lower lip as Beka’s body came into focus again, gliding across the rink to take his starting position at the centre of it. He was wearing black pants just tight enough to highlight every movement of his thighs, with a dark blue shirt that had some traditional kazakh patterns sewn into. And of course, the eyeliner, which Yuri got a sudden reminder of, when the cameraman ( _bless him_ ) decided to zoom in on Beka’s face again. The fire in his eyes burnt on Yuri’s skin and he was unable to look away until the commentators started speaking again, catching his attention.

_”He is skating to a[song called ‘Jumyr kylysh’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q2WDjWmJKhY), also known as ‘Two warriors’. An interesting detail is that he edited the song himself, making his own remix to use as his free skate music.”_

Two Warriors. He said it out loud too, tasted the words on his lips carefully. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what it meant. 

And Otabek truly looked like a warrior, not because of the costume or the make up but the sheer determination radiating from his body as he moved with the music, becoming one with the song once again. The beauty of his skating shone through the raw power behind every step and turn, every transition and spin and Yuri remembered something that Beka had said to him almost ten years ago.

_I always thought we were alike._

Back then Yuri had no idea how much truth there was in that sentence. They were both committed to their own battles on the ice, battles that only lasted for a few minutes, so little time to prove themselves and yet, the risk of failure was always high. Yuri used to think that he lost that war three years ago, but he was starting to realize that maybe he’d been just fighting on the wrong front all this time.

Beka was skating to some kazakh ethno-rock song, and Yuri found himself tapping with his feet on the floor to the rhythm of the music. He watched him perform jump after jump, executing a perfect quad sal-triple loop combination and throwing himself into a mindblowing choreographic sequence. Yuri leaned back on his chair and relaxed, enjoying the program. 

Watching him was like watching an untamed animal roaring freely and shaking off its chains for the first time, beautiful, dangerous, with fire raging just under his skin, wild yet still controlled, sacrificed for the ice in the battle he fought for both of them. 

And then Otabek made a mistake. 

The entire arena gasped as one when, after landing his last jump, the triple Axel, his right foot twisted and the blade slipped on the ice, causing him to crash into it with his right side, hitting his hip on the cold surface. 

Yuri froze, fingers digging into his palm as he watched him get up from the ice immediately, his face betraying nothing to the audience around him. Beka looked ahead, seemingly unfazed and unaffected, eyes sharp and made of steel as he performed the last few steps and spins, but Yuri caught the moment no one else had. 

That one short second between the fall and him moving to get up, when his expression was overshadowed by something that was painfully familiar to Yuri, just a flicker of emotion gone as soon as it came to life, but he saw it. 

The warrior had been defeated.

He shut his laptop and continued to sit there in the dark, breathing heavily as he tried to wrap his mind around everything he’d seen. He loosened his clenched fist, massaging his palm where his nails drew sharp red lines in his skin and closed his eyes, collecting himself.

_He’s been fighting for much longer than you know._

Otabek had dedicated both of his programs to Yuri. It was a foolish, emotional move that could have ruined his entire season, because he usually had less personal performances, and he wasn’t used to this. Changing it up so drastically in the year of the Olympics was a huge risk and even though it got him the silver, it might as well have been what cost him the gold. 

“Fucking idiot,” he whispered into nothing, drawing another breath as he made a decision. 

He wasn’t going to wait and he wasn’t going to stay away. He stayed away before for an entirely different reason, and he didn’t want Otabek to think that he was running away from him again. An instagram post wasn’t going to do it, especially since it obviously wasn’t enough to get Beka to contact him. 

If he didn’t want to talk, then fine, he didn’t have to. But Yuri still had things to say, he had an apology to offer and his friend only needed to listen. 

He felt exhaustion weighing down on his eyelids and he quickly took a shower, preparing for bed while forming a new plan. Waiting wasn’t really a plan anyway, and he wasn’t particularly good at it. This, getting to do something filled him up with a new kind of energy, and he made a list in his mind, opening up his laptop again to watch two more videos before he went to sleep. He searched for his phone in his bed before he settled in so he could cross the first thing off as soon as possible.

_01.09 me: hey_

_01.12 Seung-gil: five in the fucking morning yuri_  
_01.12 Seung-gil: what is it_

_01.12 me: congratulations on your olympic gold_  
_01.13 me: and breaking the world record with your fs_  
_01.13 me: it was amazing_

_01.14 Seung-gil: what the hell_  
_01.14 Seung-gil: go to sleep_

_01.17 Seung-gil: what he means is ‘thank you Yuri, i appreciate that!’ - Phichit_

 

Unfortunately real life didn’t take a break just because he had a sudden epiphany. He had to go back to work next day, and he survived his shift by constantly planning and polishing his words, trying to figure out the best way to make his message as clear as possible. He thought about calling or texting but it felt inappropriate somehow so he discarded the idea. No, this was something he had to do personally, and so on his first free day after his vacation, Yuri woke up early in the morning and went to the rink. 

He stopped at the gate to take a moment and mentally prepare himself for this conversation before he pushed the door open, clenching his fist and marching up to the second entrance that lead to the rink. A voice stopped him right there, calling from the receptionist’s booth and he turned around with a heavy sigh.

“What?”

The man nodded his head towards the ice rink, adjusting his glasses before he spoke again.

“That’s a private practice. We’re closed.”

Yuri arched one of his eyebrows, frowning.

“Excuse me?” He stepped closer to the receptionist and realized that he was probably new there, although he was still baffled by the fact that the guy didn’t recognize him right away.

“Yeah, the rink will be open to the public from 7 pm, you need to come back then.”

“To the public?” Yuri repeated in disbelief, scowling at him. “Dude, do you know who I am? I’m a fucking Olympic champion, seriously, how can you work here and not know that? I’m Yuri Plisetsky!”

The man’s confidence faltered and he hummed, his eyes returning to the door from his face, still unconvinced. Yuri felt anger rise in him and he pushed it back down, growling as he stopped himself from snapping at him again.

“Man, just google me,” he shook his head and rolled his eyes, “I’m like, Russia’s most famous figure skater, god fucking damnit.”

“I think that would be Viktor,” a voice from behind his back took him by surprise and Yuri jumped a little, turning around, “but you’re a close second.”

“Yakov!”

Yakov ignored him and gave a pointed look to the receptionist instead with stone cold eyes and lips pressing together in a thin line. He looked… old. Yuri observed the deep wrinkles across his face and the bald spot on top of his head that seemed to get bigger since he’d last seen it. His hair had turned into a lighter shade of grey, colourless, dry strands sticking out on the sides despite the obvious efforts to comb them back and suddenly five years seemed like an eternity, every passing day mercilessly leaving its mark on his former coach.

“He can come in,” was all he said and he turned around, making his way back inside. Yuri followed him without a word, looking around to try and spot Otabek among the few people on the ice.

There were probably six or seven skaters there, practicing choreographies, working on their jumps. All of them in their late teens-early twenties, as they were the ones who usually had on-ice training in the mornings during a school semester too.

“He’s not here,” Yakov was facing the ice, not even sparing a glance in his direction. Yuri looked up at him nonetheless, expression hardening as he narrowed his eyes.

“Where is he?”

“Home in Kazakhstan.”

Yuri felt the blood drain from his face and for a second he thought he was going to pass out as he grabbed the border to hold onto something. He felt a knot in the pit of his stomach with a lump tightening in his chest at the same time, and he struggled to get his next words out, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to his question.

“Is he coming back?”

A kid appeared at Yuri’s side, rolling his eyes when he heard the last part of their conversation. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen, and his cold blue eyes flashed angrily at him as he replied before Yakov had a chance to say anything.

“Don’t be so dramatic, he’s just visiting. He’ll be back by Wednesday.”

Yakov still wasn’t looking at him when Yuri glanced over for confirmation. He gave no sign of actually listening to them at all, but Yuri guessed he would have said something if the kid had been wrong. 

Two more days, then. He was scheduled to work that day, but his shift only started in the afternoon, so he could drop by before that. He only had a few words to say anyway, so it wasn’t going to take long. 

Now that he decided to talk to him personally, waiting was even harder than before, but he held onto the thought that he was going to see him again soon enough. It was better than his first, paranoid idea that Otabek gave up coaching at this rink and moved back home. 

Which was still a realistic future plan, since Yakov was retiring this summer. Beka could start his official coaching career anywhere in the world, so it was only logical that he would want to do it in Almaty, where he loved to train and where his whole family lives. 

Yuri’s mind started reeling with ideas and he was unable to stop these thoughts. Maybe he went home to talk about this with his relatives and to check on the rink there. Maybe he was unsure, but Yuri pushed him away and helped him made a decision after all. Maybe Otabek had never even planned to stay here after Yakov retired and that was why he never really let Yuri in. He knew he was going to leave anyway. Maybe that’s why he broke up with Anton.

He let out a long breath to calm down, closing his eyes and clearing his mind. No, no. Beka may have kept a few things from him but he would have told him something like this. His friend, _his Beka_ would never do that to him, because secrets or not, if there was one thing he was absolutely sure of, it was that Beka cared about him. Even if he didn’t love him like Yuri wanted him to, Otabek still cared, still tried to help him, be there for him, and he wouldn’t have done all of that just to disappear without a word. 

And he still had Wednesday. Beka would be back, and Yuri would have at least one last chance to say what he had to say. 

“I’ll come back then,” he said, forcing himself to keep a straight face, his eyes betraying nothing of the storm of emotions he’d just dealt with. Yakov’s voice stopped him before he could get away though, breaking his silence.

“Put your skates on.” Yuri frowned at the strange request but he was already reaching for his backpack to take it off and place it on a bench next to them.

“Why?”

Yakos kept his eyes on the rink, his back straight, lifting his head a little to nod towards the ice.

“I want to see you skate one last time before I leave.”

“You’ll still see me,” he rolled his eyes, “you’re not dying, just retiring.”

Yakov turned to look at him this time, an unrecognizable shadow in his expression glinting through the strict mask of a coach.

“Get on the ice, Yuratchka.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously guys. Why else would Yakov ditch all of his skaters right before an Olympic season? I'm so sorry.
> 
> Some details regarding Otabek's programs:
> 
> I like to procrastinate by getting lost in the details, so I made up his entire [SP layout](http://i1146.photobucket.com/albums/o536/kiazareni/Kpernyfot%202017-05-24%20-%2011.12.49_zpscdbsmxul.png). To my knowledge this follows all of ISU's current rules but if you happen to notice anything wrong with it, please feel free to let me know. Also, I accidentally wrote 'Total' at his scores in hungarian, I apologize for that. :')
> 
> Regarding his free skate, I don't have his scores but if you're interested in how I more or less imagined it, please check out Denis Ten's free skate from the 2014/2015 season, [Ambush from ten sides](https://youtu.be/duNcBq8kjDM). (On another note, happy birthday to Denis Ten who's celebrating his 24th birthday today!) Beka's program is a bit faster and you know, fiery, but generally the style would be something like this.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I'm sorry that the chapter is shorter than usual, but I felt like I had to stop it here for the sake of the plot. I hope it's gonna be worth it. :)


	11. Part 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Beka was coming back to him. Apology or not, Yuri longed to meet him again, to hear his voice and see his face, his smile, his eyes, and to make him say his name one more time before they had to have that talk. Just one 'Yura', just one time when his eyes would meet Yuri’s again and he would get to reach out and touch him. Over the last few days he rewatched his Olympic programs at least a thousand times, including his exhibition and the programs of his last season after that before he announced his retirement. He rewatched every single competition Beka participated in, every performance he missed until he was sure he knew each of them by heart._
> 
>  
> 
> _By the time there was nothing left for him to watch, he was sure that an apology wouldn’t change anything. It was too little, too late, but Yuri still had to say it, because it was better than nothing. It wasn’t enough, not even close but it was all he had._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what to say. This chapter was emotionally exhausting again, and I loved every second of writing it. 
> 
> Enjoy, and if you have an opinion, you like it, hate it, hate me, anything, I'm always happy to hear from you guys. Thank you again for all the support you've given me!

Yuri went back to the rink the next day too. He didn’t train with the rest of the kids there, just spent his time skating around lazily, practicing the most basic moves he could think of. Most of them he knew by the time he was six years old, and they weren’t exactly a challenge now either, but he had fun which was something he almost forgot how to do anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time he skated without a purpose. There was always a competition to prepare for, a new jump to learn, a spin to practice, moves to polish to perfection so he could get another gold medal. There was always a goal, an end to the road, something to achieve.

Right now, he just enjoyed doing laps, speeding up and turning around, doing spins and twizzles, revisiting his favourite steps, gradually making them more complicated as he felt himself ease into the familiar movements. He avoided doing any jumps but he lifted his leg carefully to do a spiral, and smirked when he easily switched to an outside edge before he straightened up. He came to a stop at the board to drink and adjust his gloves, looking around to see what the others were doing. 

All while a pair of ice cold blue eyes followed him everywhere. He noticed it the day before, too. Whatever he did, wherever he went, the kid who told him about Otabek was watching him. At first, Yuri assumed he was a fan, but he never approached him, not even to say hi. He was further away from the rest of team, quietly working on a choreography that Yuri could tell was going badly, and the kid seemed to get angrier at himself every second, his eyes flashing at Yuri everytime he skated past him. He was frustrated, becoming impatient when he couldn’t get it right, which resulted in even sloppier tries and bigger failures.

Yuri did his research on him, because the kid looked familiar, and he couldn’t quite recall his name until he googled him and found out that he was the junior world champion of last year. He was a bit younger than he initially thought, fourteen, soon to be fifteen, going into his first senior season. Why the hell didn’t he have his own choreographer, Yuri had no idea. Yakov and Otabek certainly wouldn’t have let him choreograph his own program without a good reason, not with so much on the line, but his old coach seemed to ignore the kid’s obvious struggling, not even trying to help him. It sparked Yuri’s curiosity, and so he kept an eye on the boy, the two of them watching each other silently, their narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows carrying messages across the rink. 

He wasn’t sure why the kid looked at him like he was to blame for his own failed attempts but Yuri’s interest in his story only seemed to grow with every irritated glance and annoyed sigh he drew from the boy. He watched him practice a spin, slowing down and trying to wave both of his arms to the side while he raised his free leg in a fan spiral, and though it was technically okay, it lacked the grace that would have made the movement truly beautiful. Yuri watched him do it again before mirroring his position, skating right in front of him so he knew the kid would get a good look at him while he copied the spiral perfectly, fixing what the boy did wrong. His furious gaze burned a hole in the back of his neck but Yuri turned to return it, raising an eyebrow with a slight nod towards him. 

Ilia, that was his name. He couldn’t remember at first but the name popped up as soon as the kid took a break from glaring at him to try again, now with significantly better posture, similar to Yuri’s. Yuri nodded again with a small smirk and the boy looked like he was seconds away from punching someone in the face, but now that Yuri got a proper look at him, he noticed a few details that made him even more eager to get to know him. There was something about Ilia that reminded him of himself, although his anger and frustration seemed to come from something other than the average teenage rebellion. He was pale and thin, more so than what Yuri thought was normal at his age, his eyes slightly swollen with dark circles under them. The blue irises were dull and empty under the anger that shielded his true emotions, and it took Yuri a minute to realize where he’d seen that look before.

He’d seen it a thousand times in the mirror, after his grandpa died. When he was constantly exhausted but couldn’t get the sleep he needed, when his eyes were open but he couldn’t really see anything, because his mind was slow and empty, unable to keep track of what was happening around him. 

The kid did the spiral again, slipping back into the mistake he’d made earlier. Yuri stopped right next to him, raising his hands to put one against his back, while using the other to grab his left shoulder.

“Your posture is all wrong,” he grumbled, his palm pressing down on the kid’s spine to straighten his back. “Drop your shoulders. Chin up, eyes on the tips of your fingers. There. Now you don’t look like you’re trying not to fart.”

Ilia smacked his arm away, letting out a furious sigh as he stood up, cutting his blade into the surface.

“I don’t need your help,” he growled, looking around to see where Yakov was. He was trying not to draw attention to them, and Yuri arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

“You don’t?” he asked in a challenging way, cocking his head to the side, “so you’re too good to accept help from an olympic champion, huh?”

“You can’t help,” was all he said, standing his ground against Yuri who decided to ignore his answer. He looked at him for a long moment, examining him before he spoke again.

“Who is it for?”

Ilia narrowed his eyes, an angry flush spreading on his face but he stubbornly stared back at him. 

“Are you coming back?” he asked instead of answering his question, and Yuri suddenly realized that this was a power play he had to win before the kid trusted him enough with a reply. He leaned closer, looking down on him, the height difference working in his favour.

“Would you like that?” Yuri smiled. This was a game he was good at, hell, he invented it, he could play it like no one else. Ilia was wrong if he thought Yuri wouldn’t be able to push back. “Do you want to learn from me, be like me?”

“No,” Ilia shot back, clenching his fists at his side which only made him look like a child throwing a temper tantrum. Yuri almost laughed, imagining that this must be what he looked like when he was fifteen and yelled at everyone. No wonder they couldn’t take him seriously most of the time. “I’m not planning to destroy my career when I’m twenty.”

That was a low blow. He looked at Yuri like he’d already won the game, waiting to see his confidence waver and him backing out of the argument. And maybe he would have been right a few months ago, when Yuri still hid from people who knew who he was, when he still did his best to avoid even thinking about skating and every word regarding his career and its tragic end was banned from his vocabulary. 

It was different now. He still had that small, bitter taste in his mouth whenever something reminded him of his injury, but now he was able to ignore it, pushing aside the memory of failure and focusing on the achievements no one and nothing could take away from him, not even a broken hip. 

“Good,” he said in a low voice, straightening his back, his eyes not leaving the kid’s for a second, “you’re gonna need those extra years to catch up to me.”

Ilia crossed his arms too, but the staring match was over when he cast another glance to the side again. Yakov was watching them from the other end of the rink, not moving an inch to intervene. Yuri thought he saw a small, satisfied smile hiding in the corner of his mouth but he couldn’t see it clearly. 

“You can’t help,” Ilia repeated, muttering the words with his shoulders dropped and his eyes now avoiding Yuri’s. 

“Who is it for?” Yuri asked again, his voice less demanding, almost soft now as he tried to catch the kid’s eyes again. Ilia was every bit of a fighter like him, and it was never a good sign if he didn’t face his opponent, be it a person, an audience or a question.

“My sister,” he replied quietly and he glanced back at Yuri.

“What happened to her?” Ilia gave a small, bitter shrug and his gaze left Yuri’s face again only to return a moment later. He seemed to need this, this occasional distance between them to be able to talk to him about it, but this time, when he avoided the answer Yuri didn’t push him. “Were you two close?”

“Why do you even care?” The kid snapped at him again, “you’re not a coach or a choreographer, you’re only here for your boyfriend. I told you he was coming back tomorrow, you can fuck off until then.”

Yuri retreated and returned to his previous tactic. He obviously tapped into something horrible here, something that was so important to Ilia that he insisted on doing his own choreography as his senior debut. Whatever happened to his sister, it made him angry enough to not care about his career at all. He skated closer to him but kept a safe distance, careful not to intrude in his personal space. Ilia was a challenge, he made Yuri curious and he wasn’t going to give up just because he didn’t make it easy for him. 

He looked at this boy and he saw himself after his grandpa’s death, when everyone thought they shouldn’t tell him how to grieve. He got to do whatever he wanted, because it was a ‘difficult time’, and no one told him when he went too far. They had let him get away with everything because grief apparently made it okay to be a horrible person, and now, years later Yuri wished someone had been there to stop him. He had needed someone to not be so damn understanding all the time, and when he looked at Ilia, he saw the same silent plea in his eyes. 

Ilia fought because that was his way of asking someone to fight back. 

“Listen here, kid,” he said, “You won junior worlds, and that’s a huge thing, so you must be good. But guess what, I won junior worlds twice, and the GPF in my first senior year. I’m a two-time world champion and an olympic gold medalist. I spent six years training with Lilia Baranovskaya whom I’m sure you’ve heard of. I choreographed my own exhibition _in less than a day_ when I was fifteen. Why I care is none of your business. You can honor your sister on the olympic podium or at a no name B event no one cares about, it’s your choice but believe me when I say that the first will make you feel better than the second.”

The kid was quiet for a while, seemingly trying to decide what to say in response before he swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked. He glanced down at his skates as he started talking but looked up again immediately, still stubbornly keeping his angry glare on his face.

“Her name was Anna. She was born sick. She had a lung transplant and like, uh, tons of other surgeries. Died in January from a fucking cold after the doctors screwed up something.”

“How old was she?” Yuri asked, and watched as once again, Ilia’s eyes left his to roam across the rink instead. 

“Six.”

Six years old. Yuri took a moment to process that. How does one deal with something like that? She was so young and suffered so much in her short life only to die because of a mistake someone else had made. It was unimaginable and he knew that there wasn’t anything he could tell this boy to make it hurt less.

“Show me your music.”

Ilia narrowed his eyes, a moment of confusion appearing in them before he changed his expression into something more familiar. A challenge again.

“What, not even a ‘sorry’?”

“Sorry isn’t gonna help you honor her memory,” Yuri replied, “show me your music and I’ll do you one better.”

Ilia didn’t answer but he skated to the side of the rink for his phone, offering it to him without another word. Yuri listened to the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=411iOnRcjAU) with his eyes closed, supporting his weight on the board with his elbows propped up on it. He shut the world out, focusing on the piano playing in his ears, trying to imagine why Ilia chose the music and what he wanted to express with it. 

It wasn’t really what he expected. It was a more mature piece, absolutely perfect for its purpose to be both about Ilia and his sister, his love and his grief connecting through the notes, blending in with Anna’s story, creating a masterpiece in Yuri’s mind. With the right choreography, it had the potential to convey Ilia’s emotions beautifully, and from what he’d seen, the kid was on the right path to make it real. Yuri didn't know exactly what caused his struggling but these last two days at the rink he was watching him practice the movements he wanted to use, and now that he heard the music, he understood. 

He thought about his grandfather. He couldn’t stop his mind from wandering towards him, and Yuri squeezed his eyes, taking a deep breath and clenching his fists, gripping at the leather gloves covering his palms. Pictures of him appeared in the darkness behind his eyelids, and he tried to force himself back to reality, to focus on the real purpose of the song, but his own loss kept getting in the way of that. The music made his grief come to life again, reminding him of every Sunday lunch he’d spent at his grandpa’s place, the taste of his cooking, the smell of _old_ in his apartment, and the sound of his voice when he laughed. How his eyes were shining bright when Yuri showed him a new medal he won, or recordings of his programs he didn’t get to see live. How his beard scratched Yuri’s face when he hugged him goodbye. Yuri always complained about that, until he’d learnt of his true condition and he started hoping that that hug wouldn’t be the last one everytime he had to leave. 

The song ended and he remained standing at the board, staring at the ice below his feet for a few more seconds before he straightened up. From the corner of his eye he saw Ilia standing awkwardly by his side, getting himself prepared for whatever criticism he expected of him. 

“So?” he asked, putting his hands on his waist, tilting his head towards the phone. 

Yuri looked up and smiled. 

“It’s perfect.” He skated away from the wall surrounding the rink, the music playing in his head while he performed the spiral Ilia practiced earlier. “Where is the edited version?”

“Otabek is bringing it tomorrow,” the kid answered, putting his hands in his pockets as he visibly started relaxing around Yuri, “he’s not supposed to be back until Monday but he promised to drop it off when he gets back.”

“Okay,” Yuri nodded, “Then we’ll start working on it tomorrow.”

He glanced at the digital clock on the wall of the arena. He had to go home soon to take a shower and change before work, and he made his way towards the gate when Ilia’s voice stopped him. 

“You’re really not coming back, are you?” 

“It’s your time to shine, kid,” Yuri turned back with a smirk, “I’m not gonna steal the spotlight.”

If he wanted to be completely honest, the idea had never even crossed his mind. He didn’t want to compete now, not if it meant that he’d end up being top ten at Nationals, not even making the world team. He had a short but great career and he wanted people to remember him as the olympic gold medalist, not the skater who failed to notice that his time had passed. He couldn’t risk any quads at all, and even a triple jump would probably cause him too much trouble. He could already feel it, even though he tried to take it easy, spending two days on the ice in a row had left a dull, but steady pain in his hip. 

Tomorrow he would have to be more careful, putting less weight on his right side to ease the pressure a little. 

He changed his mind after that and decided to stay for a little bit longer, giving some more rather unwanted advice to Ilia, who grudgingly accepted them. It involved a lot of shrugging and eye rolling, and Yuri thought they were going to make a great team. He kept listening to the song on his way home and then to the bar, trying to come up with ideas in case Ilia needed some guidance with the choreography. He went through his day absent-mindedly, planning the step sequence and where to put the jumping passes to fit the music perfectly. 

He was grateful for the distraction because otherwise he would have spent the whole day nervously repeating the words he wanted to say to Otabek. A tiny part of him in the back of his mind never forgot why exactly he wanted to go to the rink in the first place, excitement clenching his stomach when he realized again that he was going to see him. 

Beka was coming back to him. Apology or not, Yuri longed to meet him again, to hear his voice and see his face, his smile, his eyes, and to make him say his name one more time before they had to have that talk. Just one ‘ _Yura_ ’, just one time when his eyes would meet Yuri’s again and he would get to reach out and touch him. Over the last few days he rewatched his Olympic programs at least a thousand times, including his exhibition and the programs of his last season after that before he announced his retirement. He rewatched every single competition Beka participated in, every performance he missed until he knew each of them by heart. 

By the time there was nothing left for him to watch, he was sure that an apology wouldn’t change anything. It was too little, too late, but Yuri still had to say it, because it was better than nothing. It wasn’t enough, not even close but it was all he had. 

It wasn’t as if Beka had made the rest of his career explicitly about Yuri, no. He didn’t have another program as obvious as Two Warriors was, but there was something about his skating that was different. Yuri wasn’t sure if anyone else had noticed it or if it was just him. Maybe he just saw it because he was deliberately looking for clues in Beka’s performances, something that pointed at him and said ‘see, this is your fault too, he needed you so much and you left him’. 

He saw it, but he wasn’t sure if it was really there or it was just something he wanted to see. 

He went to the rink the next day with no more than five hours of sleep after his shift, but he didn’t feel tired at all, his nervous excitement making him restless instead. He looked around, looking for Beka’s familiar figure on the ice before he remembered that he was only supposed to drop off Ilia’s song cut to fit the required length of the free skate. He didn’t talk to Yakov but he saw a sharp nod of approval when he showed up. 

Beka wasn’t there yet, but the kid was, doing some exercises on the ice to warm up. He promptly ignored Yuri when he stepped inside the gate to join him, which he found understandable. Ilia was still reluctant to accept Yuri’s help or believe that he was willing to hold himself to his promise at all. 

Yuri had every intention to do just that. It didn’t matter that he only met him two days ago, he knew this kid, knew how to talk and listen to him. He felt a strange sense of responsibility, like somehow understanding Ilia made him obligated to do something with that connection.

So he did. He made him go through every single move he wanted to use, even those he only considered to include in the program. Yuri mirrored the steps and kept asking questions about them, making Ilia tell him what he wanted to say with that particular move of his arm or his body. 

Ilia was impatient, eager to get everything right, and he rushed through the movements when he felt they weren’t working. Yuri knew there had to be a reason to that, but until he didn’t know what it was, he decided not to say anything about it, and he just kept fixing the small mistakes. They moved together across the rink, only doing a simple turn where the jumping passes would be, and Yuri occasionally cut a position short to ease the pressure on his hip.

“Hold it,” he yelled when Ilia slowed down too, “you don’t get to stop just because I did!”

Naturally the boy didn’t listen to him. It shouldn’t have surprised Yuri when he came to a stop next to him anyway, looking up at him with a frown lining his forehead.

“Why did you stop?” he asked, “did I do it wrong again?”

“No, it was fine,” Yuri reassured him, slowly skating backwards with his weight resting on his left leg now. He pointed at himself and raised an eyebrow. “Injured, remember? I can keep up with you, but it might put me in a wheelchair. I don’t know you well enough to risk that.”

“Does it hurt?” Ilia asked him, casting a glance at his right leg which Yuri lifted off the ice.

“Not yet,” he said as he put his leg back down, “come on, do the step sequence again and try not to fucking rush this time. It’s not speed-skating.” He fixed his gloves again before he joined Ilia, and they skated side by side with Yuri occasionally counting to make sure the kid wouldn’t go too fast again. 

They were halfway through when he stopped dead in his tracks, spotting a familiar figure at the corner of the rink, watching him and only him. He turned around, cutting his blade into the ice to stop and a dark pair of eyes met his own, making his heart stop. He froze for a second, breath hitching in his throat, eyes widening as he took a moment to just look at him, to make sure that it really was Beka in that corner. He was there, standing further away from everyone, hands resting on his leather jacket casually thrown over the board. His eyes were dark but they were smiling, his hair brushed back but sticking up in every way like it usually looked like after he took off his helmet. 

He was standing on the opposite end of the rink, far from the door, just watching him. Surprise and awe glinted in his eyes when Yuri looked at him and smiled. He should have been nervous about Beka being there, knowing that their talk was now closer than ever, inevitably made real by this moment, but he smiled anyway, carefully planned words flying out of his mind in an instant. Beka was back, and Yuri didn’t feel anything but happiness and the overwhelming need to be closer to him. 

He tore his gaze away from him and cleared his throat.

“Your music is here.” 

“Then go and get it,” the kid grumbled, rolling his eyes like he’d already expected him to forget about their practice, “I’ll take a break I guess.”

“Hey,” Yuri stopped him, frowning, “did I say you were allowed to? Go and drink some water, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He sped up, skating backwards so he could keep an eye on Ilia to make sure he wasn’t going to leave anyway, just out of pure spite. He only turned around when he got close to the corner, blades coming to a screeching halt and he raised an arm to support his balance, reaching out to grab the border.

Fingers closed around his wrist before he could touch the board, steadying him while catching his other hand too. Beka looked down at the gloves with a small smile, turning Yuri’s hand up to press his thumb against the center of his palm, softly rubbing the leather.

God, he wanted nothing more than to pull him closer and just hug him, to hide his face in the crook of his neck and feel his arms around him to know that he was real, he was there with him again. His mere presence was enough to bring a sense of home back into Yuri’s heart, and he looked down too, watching their hands connecting them over the board, feeling the heat from Otabek’s palm warming up his cold skin. Beka held his wrist and Yuri hoped he couldn’t feel his pulse quickening under his touch. 

He stayed like that, keeping his distance and letting Otabek make the rules instead, careful not to shatter this fragile moment between them with a careless move.

“These aren’t skating gloves,” was all he said, and Yuri’s stomach did a flip because Beka was so close but not close enough, holding his hands gently and looking up at him like he wanted to capture this moment and remember it forever. Eyes seeing straight into his soul, making Yuri helpless against them, but instead of feeling exposed and vulnerable, it just made him stronger. 

“Yeah, well,” he started, throat tight with all the words stuck in there unsaid, “I’m not a pro skater anymore so I can sort of wear whatever I want.”

Beka hooked a finger under the hem of the glove on his right hand and pulled it off with one easy move.

“It’s too big. I can get you a smaller pair.”

“I don’t care,” Yuri replied, “I want this one.”

He tried to read his eyes, figure out the answer without having to ask any questions but his own doubts stood in his way, making him second-guess everything he thought he knew about Beka and their friendship. Beka laughed quietly, handing back the glove accompanied by an old mp3 player he fished out from his pocket. Yuri’s expression hardened as he took it with his free hand, the other still held by Otabek. First things first. His apology could wait another hour, right now he had a promise to keep.

“Can I ask you something?” he said suddenly, glancing back at Ilia on the ice, who seemed deeply engrossed in his phone. Yuri guessed he had at least four-five minutes before the kid ran out patience and stormed off. “How did he convince you to let him do this?”

Beka followed his eyes, watching Ilia with him for a moment before he replied.

“Didn’t take much. I know how important it is to be able to express yourself on the ice in a way no one else can, and I understand that this is something he has to try on his own first,” he tightened his hold on Yuri’s hand, fingers curling under his palm to brush against his skin, and he pressed his lips together to hide his growing smile before he continued, “that, and there is a complete choreography waiting for him in case he changes his mind.”

“I don’t think you’re going to need it,” Yuri didn’t even try to hide the pride in his voice as he said this. Ilia had good ideas about the program, and with his help they could make it a winning one. There was no better place to celebrate someone’s memory than on the top of the podium. Yuri never got that chance but he was going to make sure that Ilia would. 

He pulled his hand away, ready to go back to the kid before he decided to say something after all, to make sure that there was no way he could avoid the apology he’d been planning, even if he later tried to convince himself to postpone it. He left no chance for himself.

“Hey, will you stay for a bit?” he avoided Beka’s eyes because it was easier that way, and looked around instead before he settled for watching the other skaters on the ice. “Um, there is something I want to say. After practice. It won’t take long.”

He risked a glance at Beka’s face. There was a light frown creating thin lines between his eyebrows and he seemed to actually think about his request instead of agreeing to it right away, his usually stoic expression overshadowed by the thoughts running through his mind. Yuri saw the exact moment when Beka seriously considered saying no, but after drawing a deep breath he looked up and nodded.

“Okay.”

That was it. Yuri dropped his shoulders, forcing a weak smile on his lips.

“Thanks,” he said, gripping the mp3 player as he desperately tried to ignore the sudden change in the air, and the distance between them that seemed to grow with every word. “Beka, i’m glad you’re back.”

Otabek put his hands in his pockets and dropped his eyes from Yuri’s face to the skates he was wearing. There was a half smile playing on his lips, softening his expression into something fond and familiar, and Yuri felt the smallest bit of his confidence rebuilding.

“I’m glad _you’re_ back.”

 

 

Yuri could feel Beka’s eyes on him the entire time he was practicing with Ilia. He was tempted to show off but he focused on the kid instead, working on the choreography with him, now fitting it to the edited music as well, and he saw the whole program coming together like pieces of a puzzle creating a complete picture. It was going to be beautiful, he could see it even if Ilia still had problems with channeling the emotions through his movements. Yuri had to stop him multiple times, reminding him to slow down, to be more gentle and graceful. 

“Okay, enough,” he stopped, skating to the board to drink some water before he talked again. Ilia followed him, crossing his arms and huffing, frustrated because he, too, knew that something was off about his performance.

“What is it now?”

Yuri put the bottle down, turning back to the kid.

“You shouldn’t be sad or angry.” Ilia frowned and took a breath to start arguing but Yuri raised his hand, silencing him. “Wait, let me rephrase that. You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel, but this program isn’t about you. It’s about your sister.”

Ilia shut his mouth, looking confused.

“I don’t understand.”

Yuri skated closer to him and lowered his voice so no one else would hear them discussing this. 

“What’s the name of this song?”

“Fly?” Ilia replied, still frowning, trying to figure out where Yuri was going with this.

“Exactly. It’s about being free. It’s not about mourning Anna, it’s about letting her go.” Yuri tried to catch the kid’s eyes, making sure he understood what he was saying. “Your sister fought and suffered through her life, and she doesn’t have to anymore. It hurts, I know, because you miss her, and her death was caused by a horrible mistake, but this isn’t about that. You’re hurting, but she isn’t, that’s the point. I think that’s what you want to express but you’re too angry to realize it. And that’s fine, anger’s fine, it’s why I’m here to help you see that.”

They were both quiet for a while and Yuri examined Ilia’s expression carefully, trying to figure out if he screwed up and stepped over a line he shouldn’t have. He definitely danced too close to it, bringing up subjects he had no business prying into, but the kid accepted his help the day before which had to include figuring out the meaning behind the program. Skaters weren’t just moving across the ice performing difficult formations. Sometimes they died on it, left their heart behind with a performance, rebuilt themselves over and over again until their deepest thoughts were poured into every step and jump, laid out for everyone to see. Ilia had to be prepared for that, otherwise he might just use that other choreography Beka had waiting for him.

“How do you stop being angry?” Ilia asked after the silence had stretched between them, and Yuri couldn’t stop a quiet snort escaping his lips.

“Fuck if I know,” he said, “if you ever figure it out, tell me.”

Ilia glanced at the time, noting that Yuri had to leave soon.

“Let’s go over it one more time.”

Yuri nodded and this time he remained standing at the board, quietly observing as Ilia performed the choreography once again. The change was obvious, in both his movements and his timing, he visibly slowed down and held certain positions longer, just like Yuri had asked him to before. He saw him close his eyes and focus harder during parts that usually caused him more trouble and Yuri wondered if he’d really gotten wise like Axel said he did. Maybe he did have something to give, something to share with younger skaters after all. 

He was still smiling when Ilia finished his choreography, holding his final pose for a few seconds before skating over to him. Yuri held out his hand for a high five.

“That’s it, kid,” he said, “you got this.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Yuri nodded, “my work here is done.” 

His words caused a frown to appear on Ilia’s face, his smile vanishing when he looked up at him and realized Yuri was serious.

“Wait, that’s it? I’m ready?” 

“No,” Yuri answered, “but your choreo is. The rest is up to your coach. I’m not sure what else I could do.”

That made the kid think, turning his head to stare at the empty space in front of him, the corners of his lips turning down and Yuri could have sworn he could hear the wheels turning inside his head. Then he looked at him again, his eyes flashing with determination.

“You could choreograph my short program.”

Yuri’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He didn’t expect that request, and he wasn’t sure how to respond to it. Helping someone clean up their messy ideas and coming up with his own were two very different things and even though he’d done it before, he hesitated. Those choreographies were for him. Could he do the same for someone else?

“I’m… not actually a choreographer, you know that, right?” he asked, trying to choose his words carefully to avoid upsetting him.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Ilia rolled his eyes, “are you telling me you can’t do it?”

“Of course I can do it, it’s just…”

“Great,” the boy nodded, leaving Yuri in stunned silence, “then I’ll let you know when Otabek and I chose a song.”

He didn’t even wait for an answer, just left him there without even glancing back at him. Yuri gaped at him for a moment longer than necessary when he heard a noise behind his back and he turned around, spotting Beka on the other side of the board, leaning on it and tapping a rhythm with his fingers. He was resting his chin in his other hand and had a small but rather smug smile on his face which made Yuri’s stomach dance so he looked away for a second to collect himself, pointing at Ilia’s back.

“Can you believe this kid?” 

Beka’s smile grew a tiny bit wider, playfully tilting his head towards Yuri with a raised eyebrow.

“Doesn’t he remind you of someone?” 

“Now that you mention it, he does,” Yuri replied, pretending to not know what he meant, “I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed before, he’s _just_ as infuriating as Viktor.”

His answer made the other man laugh and he felt his face heating up at the sight. Beka straightened up, tilting his head down as he grinned, and Yuri tried not to think about how much he wanted to kiss those small dimples on his cheeks, giving him that boyish charm that made him fall in love again everytime. 

Beka cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, his smile slowly fading like he’d just realized that they weren’t exactly on the friendliest terms right now. His eyes darkened, clouds of sadness chasing away that moment of peace between them, and Yuri hated the fact that he could see it happening so clearly. It was so easy to fall back into the comfortable familiarity of this fond banter but it just made returning to their harsh reality that much harder. 

Yuri never wanted to be the person who caused that change in Otabek’s expression, yet here he was, doing it again. It was his fault, and even if there wasn’t anything he could do to make it right, he could at least admit it and own up to his mistakes. The apology he was planning was long overdue. 

He left the ice and sat down on the closest bench, pulling his skates off as quickly as possible, because Beka stayed until the end of their practice like he asked, and he was waiting for him. He’d been waiting for five years for Yuri to get his shit together and apologize, and that’s exactly what he was going to do now. He hung his backpack on his shoulder and gathered his skates, holding them in one hand as he stepped closer to Beka who was still there, leaning against the border of the rink, watching him. 

“Thanks for staying,” Yuri felt incredibly awkward standing there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and trying to remember the words he memorized over the last few days.

“You asked me to,” Beka replied, like it was the most natural thing in the world that he did what Yuri asked, despite everything. 

Yuri’s mouth felt dry and he took a deep breath, clenching his fist and willing them to stop shaking. 

“I wanted to say something. I should have said it a long time ago, and I know it doesn’t change anything, but still, I’m just,” he wanted to look away but he _couldn’t_ , this was too important, he owed it to his friend, the person he loved to look at him and let him see all the words in his eyes too, in case saying them wasn’t enough. He let out a long breath and raised his head, seeking comfort in Beka’s eyes on him. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

Otabek didn’t move, his expression didn’t change at all, he just kept watching him, and Yuri continued, words flowing out of his lips easier now that he’d already started. 

“I’m sorry for what I did, shutting you out and sending you away like that without explanation. I know it wasn’t fair to you and you didn’t deserve any of it and I wish I could go back and change things. I screwed up and I hurt you and I regret it every day. And I know it’s been five years and an apology won’t do anything now and maybe you moved on, or you don’t even want to talk about it, but I’m sorry. For everything.”

Yuri had no idea if he had even made any sense, but he stopped talking and hoped that Beka understood what he was trying to say. It wasn’t a great speech, his voice was slightly trembling and he was pretty sure he’d never looked or felt more pathetic and vulnerable in his life, and every word felt like it still wasn’t enough, but it was okay, because all the words in every language wouldn’t have been enough to make his mistakes go away, or to make up for the last five years.

Beka opened his mouth then closed it again, drawing his eyebrows together, his confusion evident in the thin lines on his forehead, although Yuri wasn’t quite sure what caused it. 

“I... don’t know what to say,” he replied slowly. Yuri pressed his lips together because even though he didn’t expect anything from him in return, he felt a knot tightening in his stomach, disappointment sweeping through his mind and pushing tears in the corner of his eye.

“That’s okay,” he said, grateful that his voice lacked the uncertainty he felt, “I’m not asking for your forgiveness, because I don’t deserve it. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry.”

His legs felt too heavy as he tried to move but he forced himself to turn away, pushing past Beka without another word. He kept his eyes on the door and it took him everything to not start running. 

He needed to get out of there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I was too impatient to read it properly so it's entirely possible that I accidentally left in some mistakes, please point them out if you come across them so I can correct. And sorry for the lame note in the beginning, it's 2 am, I'm dead tired and I'm pretty sure I'm running only on all the sugar I've eaten today. God have mercy on me lmao.
> 
> Edit: I can't sleep. I read through it and rephrased a few lines. It is now 3 am and i'm gonna die in 3 hours when my alarm wakes me rip
> 
> Edit no.2: okay so the links keep disappearing from the fic so I'm just gonna list here all the songs i've used so far so you can check them if it happens again:
> 
> Beka's SP song: Brahms - Hungarian dance no.11 in D minor (piano, 4 hands)  
> Beka's FS song: Ulytau - Jumyr kylysh 
> 
> Ilia's FS song: Ludovico Einaudi - Fly
> 
> Edit no.3: Okay, this is actually quite interesting. Apparently the name Ilia is the plural form or Ilium which is the [largest part of the hip bone](http://teachmeanatomy.info/wp-content/uploads/Hip-Bone-of-a-5-year-old-Triradiate-Cartilage-Present.jpg). As [Alexa_Rune](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexa_Rune/pseuds/Alexa_Rune) so beautifully put it, "Yuri is literally turning his carreer ending injury into something beautiful". Thank you for pointing this out to me, because, and here's the funny part:
> 
> I had absolutely no idea. I mean, I literally referred to him in my notes as "A Young And Angry Colin Morgan" and I only named him when I got to that part in the chapter and I couldn't avoid it any longer. I chose the name Ilia because the way I imagined his skating reminded me of russian skater [Ilia Skirda](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UldAswHiRg). It's a huge, incredible coincidence and I think my HS hungarian literature teacher would ugly cry from happiness if she saw it lmao. Thanks again for letting me know!


	12. Part 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Somehow that was the worst thing that Beka could have possibly said. Yuri felt a sharp pain tugging on his stomach, turning his insides and he pressed his hand against it, sinking his fingers in his t-shirt, letting his nails cut into his skin. He tried to breathe and forced himself to do it slowly, letting his lungs have their fill of oxygen as he dropped his head, hiding behind his hair falling in his face._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with chapter 12! 
> 
> Also, y'all are going to hate me now, but I wanted to let you know that I'm going on another vacation and I won't be back until July 11th. The next chapter is completely planned and I know exactly what I'm gonna do and how I'm gonna do it (have been since the beginning of the story, we're SO CLOSE TO THE END, GUYS), but i'm not sure how much writing i'll be able to get done. Let's just assume the worst and say none, that would mean I can start working on it on July 12th. 
> 
> That was the bad news. I don't know if the chapter itself counts as good news, I really wanted to finish it so you'd get to read it before I leave (and uploading it from my phone would have been a nightmare). I hope you guys will enjoy it, and if you want to talk, have any feelings about you want to share, feel free to do so. Thank you so much and enjoy I guess :)
> 
>  
> 
> No beta, because as always I couldn't wait to upload it as soon as I typed the last line. If you find any typos or mistakes, please tell me so I can correct them. Thank you!

Yuri was late for work, but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care at all. He was pretty sure he’d reached a new low as he stopped further away from the arena and turned back, watching the door like he tried to magically make it open again with his mind. 

He sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose and rubbing the corners of his eyes to make the tears disappear before they could fall. If he thought he was pathetic when he waited for Beka to say something, he sure as hell didn’t know what being pathetic really felt like. It felt like hiding near the other end of the street, lingering there to see if Otabek would follow him outside. Fifteen-year-old Yuri Plisetsky would have had a great time calling him names and laughing at him until he realized that this was his actual future self doing this. 

The door stayed shut and Yuri felt more miserable with each passing minute. He did it, he stood in front of Beka, poured his fucking heart into every word, and now it just felt like someone had ripped it out of his chest and did camel spins on it until the blades cut it into a hundred tiny pieces. 

Pathetic also felt a lot like shame. Shame because he promised to let Beka take as much time as he needed, and come to him on his own when he was ready to talk, but he still couldn’t silence that quiet, hopeful voice inside of his head that convinced him to stay just for another minute, and another, and another, watching the entrance of the rink and waiting for the door to swing open. Waiting for Otabek to step through it, looking around to try and find him and tell him that they could move on from this, they could work through it together and eventually, everything would be okay.

And then he spotted him, except when Beka walked out of the building, it wasn’t to run after him to talk. He didn’t even seem to be in a rush, just went straight to his motorcycle parked on the left side of the building, not even raising his head to look around. He couldn’t see his expression from afar, but what he did see was him getting on his bike, putting on his helmet and driving off without a second of hesitation, or glancing up at least once. 

For Yuri, it suspiciously looked like Beka had even been waiting for a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t around by the time he left. He hoped that was just another quiet voice in his mind, playing tricks on him. 

He kept replaying the whole conversation in his head like a movie, analyzing every second of it to try and determine what he should have said or done differently, and what could possibly have been going through Beka’s mind while he listened to his apology. He went through his day like a machine, absent-mindedly serving customers, exhaustion weighing him down after the first couple of hours. He’d spent the last three mornings at the rink, having only slept a few hours before that, and he could feel that his body had had enough. He desperately needed to sleep, so much that at one point Tatiana sent him on a break and told him to lie down in the back room for a while. 

It didn’t help. He was unable to rest or relax at all, because as soon as he didn’t have anything to do, a cocktail to mix, change to count, a guest to smile at, his mind became preoccupied with Otabek again, throwing questions at him tirelessly, like “what if” and “why”. 

What if Otabek truly didn’t care about the whole thing and thought Yuri was ridiculous for making such a big deal out of it. What if he thought it was pointless to apologize because he could never ever forgive Yuri anyway. Why did he seem so confused by it, like the apology took him by surprise and why didn’t he say something, anything, really. 

It would have been better if Beka had been visibly mad at him, turning his back on him or telling him to leave, because then at least Yuri would have known that it was over. It would have hurt like hell but eventually he’d accept it and move on, or decide to fight for their friendship or what was left of it. Right now he wasn’t sure he had anything to fight for. He hated not knowing, it made him anxious and restless and afraid, an unpleasant weight like rocks sitting in the pit of his stomach, holding him down. He just wanted it to be over. 

He thought he would feel better after apologizing, and there were moments when he did. He went through a wide range of emotions during his shift, and there were moments when he could breathe just a little bit easier than before, when under the desperation, the uncertainty, and the fear of losing his friend he felt a tiny spark of pride because he, Yuri Plisetsky, got his shit together and owned up to his mistakes. He said he was sorry, and he didn’t stick around to force a response out of Beka.

Maybe he should have. It certainly would have been easier for him, to yell and demand an answer, but it wasn’t what he promised himself, and he also didn’t think he was in the position to demand anything at all. He had no right to ask anything in return for his apology, not an answer and definitely not an answer he would have wanted anyway. 

But he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had. If he stayed and begged, yelled insults at him, screamed and kicked until he got what he wanted. It was the way he used to act around people and it usually worked, although his past self wasn’t exactly someone he would have set as an example to follow. 

Other memories from that morning crept up on him too, the way Beka looked at him when their eyes met for the first time after weeks of silence, fascinated by the sight of Yuri on ice again, wearing worn-down rental skates and doing laps like his injury had never even stopped him in the first place. 

When he remembered how gently Beka held his hand, brushing his thumb against his skin, his fingertips leaving burning trails on Yuri’s palm, it was hard to believe that Beka didn’t want everything to go back to the way it was between them. When he propped his elbow up on the board and cocked his head to the side, looking at him with his eyebrow raised, his eyes almost flirtatious, teasing him so easily, making butterflies fluttering their wings in Yuri’s stomach, he couldn’t imagine that Beka didn’t want to forgive him at all. 

The thought of not having him in his world made Yuri feel like those butterflies had knives on their wings, leaving small cuts everywhere inside of him. Leaving Beka once was hard enough, twice would have been impossible. He got him back, and he didn’t want to let him go again, even if it meant that he would have to be his friend and nothing more for the rest of their lives. 

He stared up at the ceiling of the break room, wondering if he would ever be able to make a final decision about this. Sometimes he couldn’t possibly imagine living like that, watching Otabek grow old with someone else, always staying his friend, always keeping him at arm’s length, unable to move on. Other times, he thought he would rather have that than nothing at all. 

There was a soft knock on the doorframe and Yuri jolted upright, putting his feet down from where he propped them up against the wall.

“Yeah, I’m going,” he said hurriedly, standing up from the couch. Tatiana waved a hand and stepped into the break room. 

“It’s not that bad out there, don’t worry,” she replied, “hey, listen, I hate to disturb you, but I’m having a phone interview in a few minutes and I was wondering if you could cover for me?”

“Come on, you just did the same for me, I’m not gonna say no,” Yuri stood up and walked over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder, “good luck?”

“Not sure yet,” she said with a nervous smile and nodded gratefully. Tatiana applied for basically every job she could find and sometimes they weren’t the best options, so Polina started this tradition that they always asked first if she needed luck or not. According to her, 'she had to save the luck for the best ones'. Yuri got used to it quickly, and he gave Tatiana a tight-lipped smile, leaving the room before patting her on the back in what was supposed to be a reassuring gesture. 

He wasn’t really good at supporting others that day, being in need of emotional support himself, but he figured he could offer at least that. At any rate, Tatiana did him a favour because working alone for a while was bound to make him busy enough to stop thinking about Otabek. 

Seriously though, Yuri thought as he walked outside, cursing quietly when he realized that he just couldn’t let the subject go, how do you not know what to say to an apology? There were literally two options, accepting it or not. Why was it so hard for Otabek to decide between these two? He thought back to their conversation again, recalling every impossibly small change in Beka’s expression. He saw the way his eyes darkened, the slight quirk of his eyebrow, how his lips parted, when Yuri finished talking, and every subtle change just added another question to the growing pile Yuri had already collected. 

A few hours later his phone chimed with a new message and he felt his stomach drop. He forced himself to focus on the customers first, only reaching for it when he had a few minutes to spare. 

It wasn’t Otabek, and he couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed. 

_20.33 Axel: yuri_  
_20.33 Axel: i tOLD HIM_  
_20.33 Axel: i took your advice and told him how i feel_

For the first time during his shift, Yuri had a genuine smile on his face, one that didn’t feel like strings pulling on his lips against his will. Apparently it took her a while, but Axel thought about what Yuri said to him in Hasetsu, hiding together on the steps at the back entrance of the rink. He quickly typed his response and almost immediately he received an answer from Axel again.

_20.39 me: and????_

_20.39 Axel: aaaaaaand_

There was a photo attached under the message, of Axel and her dance partner, Koshiro if Yuri remembered the name right. He had his arm thrown around Axel’s shoulders, pressing his lips to her cheek, smiling against her skin happily with his eyes closed. Axel was looking at the camera, grinning from ear to ear, and Yuri felt his own smile become wider too, matching hers. At least one of them was brave enough to take a risk. 

_20.40 me: nice job_  
_20.41 me: tell that guy that if he hurts you i’ll cut off his legs_

_20.41 Axel: i’ll make sure he knows_  
_20.42 Axel: thank you_  
_20.42 Axel: not sure i would have done it if it wasn’t for you_

_20.43 me: anytime_  
_20.43 me: name a kid after me_

_20.44 Axel: oh god stop talking_

Yuri chuckled to himself and put his phone back in his pocket, returning to work. He couldn’t shake one thought, one tiny idea that started to take root in his mind, one possibility that he hadn’t dared to consider before. That maybe, just maybe Otabek felt the same way. 

Axel took a risk and she was happy now, and Yuri couldn’t help but wonder if he should take that risk too. Their friendship, or whatever it was at the moment, had already been screwed up in more than one ways, so adding this on top of everything else really wasn’t that much of a risk anymore. Five years ago everything was perfect, and Yuri couldn’t bear the thought of losing that, but now he’d probably already lost it anyway. 

And if there was a chance that Beka returned his feelings… he hadn’t let himself read too much into the small, affectionate touches or the way Beka looked at him sometimes. He told himself that he had ruined everything five years ago and there was no way that Otabek would ever love Yuri like Yuri loved him, but there were times when he felt Beka’s fingers linger on his skin, his gaze forgotten on Yuri for a moment longer than necessary. Times, when Beka would pull him closer, put an arm around his shoulder, leaning in to say something, and Yuri could almost feel his lips touching his hair, his warm breath sending a shiver down his spine. There were times like this, when Otabek would comfort Yuri in the middle of a park by cupping his face in his palms and gently stroking his cheekbones, and it was all too much, but he hadn’t dared to really think about it, to consider the idea that it wasn’t friendly affection on Beka’s part. 

But the chance of being wrong was too high, and Yuri thought that maybe he just imagined it all, maybe it was just wishful thinking and it just how their friendship worked. A little out of the lines, a little different from what was considered normal, but it didn’t mean anything, because they were a little different from other people too so it was normal for them.

He sighed, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and looked around the pub. It was busy, but apparently not busy enough to keep him from constantly thinking about this. His whole night had been spent speculating and wondering and asking questions he hadn’t asked before, and he was just exhausted, tired of it all. He pulled a face when he realized that he would have the next two days off, which meant he was going to have all the time in the world to drive himself crazy. 

He yawned, clearing some of the tables and the counter. They were closing soon, and he liked to start cleaning up earlier so some of the guests would get the hint and go home. He called a cab for a few girls who went a bit overboard with celebrating their graduation and woke up some guy in the back who fell asleep at his table. He was the last one to leave, and Yuri shut the door behind him with a sigh, letting a long breath out. The day was finally over and he really just wanted to go home and sink his face into his pillow, preferably until he suffocated. 

He heard the door open again behind him and he turned back, already rolling his eyes. It happened from time to time, when the one light over the counter was still on in the bar and people didn’t bother reading the sign that clearly stated that they were already closed. 

However those words got stuck in his throat when his eyes fell on the person standing awkwardly in the door. His eyes widened and he forgot to breathe for a minute as he took in Otabek’s figure, his messed up hair, his hands clutching the black helmet tightly, looking back at Yuri with a hesitant expression. The dim light in the pub painted faint circles under his eyes, now lacking their usual dark intensity. He seemed pale, his skin glowing in the glimmer of light, the brown irises shining bright and unsure. Yuri hated how lost he looked, standing still at the other end of the room. 

For a few seconds, none of them said anything and Yuri didn’t know what to do, so he was waiting, watching him with his heart beating hard in his chest, so loudly that he was sure Beka could hear it despite the few metres between them. He took a few tentative steps towards him. 

“Hi,” Beka said, dropping his hands so they were hanging by his side.

“Hi,” Yuri was pretty sure he was hallucinating. It wouldn’t have surprised him after sleeping a good thirteen hours in the last three days. He said the first thing that came to his mind just to break the pregnant silence that fell between them. “Beka, it’s 2 am.”

Otabek shifted, clenching his jaw and Yuri saw his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. 

“I know,” he replied, not quite looking at him at first, “I just thought… I could give you a lift.”

Yuri whipped his head around to look at Tatiana. The girl tried to hide her smile, raising an eyebrow at them.

“We’re almost finished here anyway. Go,” she nodded towards the door and Yuri thanked her, turning back to Otabek. 

“Let’s go.”

They went outside together and Yuri headed towards the bike, marching up to it with a few large steps, like he was afraid that if he didn’t hurry, it could disappear the next second. Beka was there, Beka was up at 2 am, thinking about him and he sure as hell didn’t come to the bar just to offer him a ride home and then leave. Beka wanted to talk and Yuri was equally impatient and terrified. 

He handed Yuri a helmet ( _his_ helmet, as he secretly thought of it) and he put it on, sitting up behind him. Yuri lifted his hands but then froze for a second, his arms stopping in the air between them before he changed his mind, holding onto the grab rail behind him instead. 

Yuri thought he was an idiot. 

It wasn’t such a big deal, putting his arms around Beka, like he always did when he rode with him, but even now, even after he showed up at the pub looking for him, he couldn’t face the possibility of rejection or any sign that Beka was uncomfortable, having Yuri behind him. It was stupid, it was cowardly and he hated that he felt that way.

Beka had already had his own helmet on too, but he didn’t start the bike yet. He waited for a few seconds then glanced back over his shoulder, tilting his head down, his eyes hidden behind the glass, so Yuri couldn’t see his expression in the dark. He imagined he must have rolled his eyes because the next thing he knew, Otabek reached out and grabbed his left hand, bringing it forward and placing it around his waist without saying a word. 

Yuri stopped hesitating and grabbed the jacket with both hands, sliding forward on his seat and leaning on Beka’s back. He clenched his fist as much as he could with the hard leather between his fingers, and accidentally knocked his helmet against Beka’s in his efforts to wrap himself around him as much as possible. 

He felt Beka shift against his chest as he reached for his hand again, squeezing it once before he let go. 

And then they drove off. He felt the wind catching his hair that fell from under the helmet, playing with it as they rode across the streets of St. Petersburg, the night lights blending together into one orange streak in the corner of his eye. He stared at the road ahead of them and wished that they weren’t wearing their helmets so he could hide his face properly in Beka’s neck, or bury his nose into the longer strands of black hair on the back of his head. He wished he could press his lips to the soft skin behind his ear, close his eyes and just breathe him in, focusing on nothing but the feeling of Otabek’s body against his, until the whole world narrowed down to the two of them and time stood still.

There was something magical about riding the bike with Beka in the middle of the night. The city was still alive but life seemed to slow down around them, pieces that got broken apart during the day coming together again. Like a painting that looked so much more beautiful when you were looking at it alone, the absence of people and the noise of living had given Yuri enough space inside his own head to just think, to let his thoughts wander aimlessly while he held onto Otabek, his only anchor to the world that surrounded them. 

He wished he didn’t live so close to the pub but too soon they were pulling up in front of his apartment and Yuri got off the bike, reluctantly letting go of Beka. The air felt uncomfortably cold on his chest and he immediately wished he could wrap his arms around Otabek again, sneaking his hands under the leather jacket to feel the warmth of his body.

Beka followed him up the stairs, standing beside him wordlessly while Yuri fumbled with his keys. The silence around them was maddening, loud and heavy, pushing down on his chest and shoulders as he stepped inside the flat and glanced back to see if the other man was still there.

He was, but he remained standing at the door, hesitantly looking at Yuri who raised an eyebrow expectantly, inviting him in. He didn’t wait for an answer and turned away, dropping his bag on the couch before making his way into the kitchen. Even though the unexpected turn of events chased away the sleepiness for a while, he could feel his eyelids falling shut more frequently and his limbs becoming heavier, exhaustion tugging at him slowly, dragging his mind down. He reached for the instant coffee on his shelf when Otabek spoke.

“I should go.”

Yuri felt his blood freeze in his veins and he pulled his hand back, turning back to him. Despite his words, Beka was closer now, standing in the middle of his living room just as awkwardly as he did in the pub, waiting for whatever it was he wanted Yuri to say. He looked young and unsure in a way only he could, with his expression tight and neutral, only subtle hints of uncertainty painting the brown of his eyes lighter, pulling the corners of his lips downwards ever so slightly. 

“No.” 

Yuri knitted his brows and abandoned the mugs on the counter to take a few steps towards Otabek. He glared at him, not saying anything else. Just a simple ‘no’, stated like there were no other options at all.

“This was a stupid idea. You’re tired, you should rest.”

“No,” Yuri repeated, “You showed up tonight for a reason and I want to know what it is.”

Beka looked at him with a more stern expression now, a familiar response to Yuri’s demanding tone of voice. 

“Yuri, you’re falling asleep on your feet,” he said, and Yuri felt his heart twist at the sound of the last syllable, the sharp ‘i’ cutting into him like he’d been stabbed. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

A couple more steps and he was standing right in front of Otabek, staring at him with determination and challenge in his eyes. He didn’t even think about his next words, just let them fall from his lips easily, not giving himself enough time to change his mind.

“Then stay.”

Beka’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say no right away. He was watching Yuri for a few seconds, like he was trying to decide if he was truly serious about this, then averted his eyes to think about his answer. 

Yuri did his best to look like he had actually planned to say that and it wasn’t just an impulsive, desperate attempt to keep Beka there. He was hell bent on not letting him go now that he was finally there with him, and he reached out, stubbornly tugging on the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Stay here tonight.” 

He couldn’t help himself, so he let go of the sleeve and slid his hand down to entwine Beka’s fingers with his, squeezing them lightly. Beka was tense, his shoulders clenched, eyes closing for a moment as he turned his head away from him, tilting it down to avoid looking back at him. 

It was a bold move from Yuri, but the way Beka grabbed his hand to put it around his waist, how he reached back for it before he started the bike, and this whole surreal night made him brave enough to do this, a familiar old feeling rising in his chest as he decided he wasn’t going to back out. He wasn’t going to be ignored, and he wasn’t going to let Otabek go now that he had him in his apartment. 

He didn’t just wake up in the middle of the night and thought he would give Yuri a lift, he went to the bar for _something_. Yuri didn’t know what it was, but he was afraid he might never find out if he let Otabek leave now. He tugged on the jacket again with his free hand, while he drew invisible lines on Beka’s palm with the other, curling his fingers to tighten his hold on him. He stepped even closer until he could rest his forehead against Beka’s temple, whispering with his lips just inches away from his cheek and their hands clasped together.

“Beka, please. I’ll take the couch, I’ll give you all the fucking time in the world just don’t leave me like this.”

Yuri breathed in, brushing his nose against Beka’s cheekbone and it took him every bit of his willpower to not do the same with his lips, the temptation to taste Beka’s skin, to turn his head just a little so he could press their lips together, becoming unbearably strong.  
Beka made a low, broken sound that was probably meant to be a scoff and he pulled his hand away, only to sink his fingers into Yuri’s hair, resting them on the back of his head to hold him close. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, sliding his hand down to his neck and then to his arm before dropping it and taking a step back to look at Yuri again, “this is your home, I’ll have the couch.”

Yuri nodded, feeling the loss of Beka’s touch on his skin. It made his face heat up and he knew he was blushing so he mumbled something about getting him a pillow and a blanket and disappeared into his room. 

“Here,” he said when he returned a minute later, putting everything down on the couch, avoiding Beka’s eyes, “I got you a t-shirt too. I’m gonna take a shower, let me know if you need anything else.”

He turned away without waiting for a reply, shutting the bathroom door behind himself. He showered quickly, his sleepiness catching up to him again now that Otabek wasn’t nearby to serve as a distraction, but he still couldn’t steer his thoughts away from him. 

Beka was here and he was going to stay until the morning when they would probably finally talk. Beka was here and he didn’t look like he couldn’t bear the sight of Yuri anymore. Beka was here and he was going to stay. No matter how many times he said these words in a row, he couldn’t keep away the unreasonable fear that he wouldn’t find him there when he wakes up.

He felt his cheeks burn of embarrassment as he thought back to how dangerously close he came to kiss Otabek not five minutes ago. He completely forgot about himself and the only reason it didn’t happen was because Beka pulled away from him, breaking them apart. 

For a brief second there, Yuri was sure that if he had kissed him, Beka would have kissed back, but that moment was shattered when he pushed him away. The thought itself was humiliating, even though nothing happened and Beka probably didn’t even notice that Yuri almost stepped over a line they definitely wouldn’t have been able to come back from.

When he was finished, he opened the door as quietly as he could, staring in the direction of the living room. The lights were off and he couldn’t see the couch from there, so he slowly tip-toed down the hall, careful not to wake Otabek. It was awkward enough that he wanted to check on him to make sure he didn’t dream the whole night, he would have preferred not to be noticed while he was doing it.

It was too dark to see clearly but someone was definitely lying on his couch. Yuri let out a long breath, pushing his hair back from his face and looked again. Yes, that was an Otabek-shaped shadow, sleeping peacefully under the blanket. He took another step towards him, stretching his neck just to make sure. 

“I’m still here, Yuri,” Beka broke the silence and sighed but he didn’t sound mad or impatient. If anything, he seemed to be slightly amused and Yuri was grateful for the darkness because he was undeniably blushing now, stopping halfway between the door and the couch. Shit, he really thought he was asleep.

“Just checking,” he replied, but he still lingered there, thinking of something to say. There was one question he hadn’t yet brought up, one that didn’t have anything to do with the two of them. He wasn’t sure how, but he needed to talk about it with Beka and he didn’t know if he would get the chance to ask tomorrow.

“Yuri,” Beka spoke again and although Yuri couldn’t see him, he could have sworn he was smiling, “it’s past 3 am, I’m not going anywhere. You’re tired. Go to sleep.”

“Yeah, I’m going,” Yuri said, not going. “I just…” he looked around, eyes settling on the kitchen corner, “...need a glass of water.”

Beka didn’t say anything and yet, Yuri just fucking knew he was smiling under the covers. 

“Do you need anything?” he asked him while he got a glass for himself. He wasn’t actually thirsty but at least he had something to hold onto.

“No. Do you?” 

There was a sharp edge to his question, indicating that if Yuri wanted something then he needed to cut the bullshit and ask now. It wasn’t like Yuri didn’t know that, but it was easier said than done, especially considering the question on his mind. 

Regardless of how things were going to end between them, this was something he wanted to do with Beka by his side. He pushed away the thought for the last couple of days but it kept coming back, a constant, heavy presence that didn’t let him completely focus on anything else.

Yuri lowered his hand and put the glass in the sink, then walked over to the couch. His eyes were starting to get used to the darkness and he was able to make out Beka’s figure under the blanket. He couldn’t see his expression but he heard Beka turn over so he would face Yuri as he sat down on the floor cross-legged, right in front him.

He bit his lip, his fingers tapping on his own legs while he tried to figure out how to talk about this. He was hesitating because saying it out loud also meant that it was real, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. It was hard to even think about it, but he needed to know and there wasn’t anyone he would have rather discussed this with than Otabek. 

Maybe their friendship was beyond repair, maybe they wouldn’t ever go back to what they used to be to each other but tonight they were still friends and he trusted Beka with everything, more than anyone else in the world.

“Yuri,” his voice sounded a bit concerned now, because Yuri still wasn’t talking. He sat there, staring at his hands in his lap and Beka propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at him properly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Um,” Yuri looked up, taking a deep breath. He whispered his next words carefully, like somehow saying them quietly enough wouldn’t make them a reality because the universe wouldn’t hear him. “Did you know about Yakov?”

If Beka was surprised by his question, he didn’t show it. He didn’t move, didn’t turn his head away, he was just silently watching him for a moment. Yuri knew exactly what he was going to say before he said it.

“Yeah. I did.”

Yuri pressed his lips together in a thin line, eyelashes fluttering against his skin as he squeezed his eyes shut, acknowledging Beka’s reply with a nod. So it was real, he wasn’t imagining it when Yakov looked at him so strangely and sent him to the ice, right after Yuri told him he’d still have plenty of opportunities to see him skate. It was real, this was really happening, and Yuri was suddenly angry at himself for not knowing about it sooner. He should have figured out as soon as Beka told him about Yakov’s retirement back in March when they first met. 

Yakov would never risk his skaters’ careers by leaving them right before an olympic season, not unless he had no other choice.

“You should have told me.”

Beka shifted, dropping his gaze.

“He didn’t want me to.”

Somehow that was the worst thing that Beka could have possibly said. Yuri felt a sharp pain tugging on his stomach, turning his insides and he pressed his hand against it, sinking his fingers in his t-shirt, letting his nails cut into his skin. He tried to breathe and forced himself to do it slowly, letting his lungs have their fill of oxygen as he dropped his head, hiding behind his hair falling in his face.

“Why?”

“Yuri,” Beka leaned closer, taking his hand and drawing it away from his stomach, “he didn’t want anyone to know. I only found out because, he… he had this seizure one day. I was with him when it happened.”

“I don’t want him to die, Beka,” Yuri whispered, and his voice quivered, the words hanging between them.

Otabek was quiet again, watching him while Yuri stared at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

“Come here,” he said, tugging on his arm to get him to stand up. 

Yuri went without a word. He laid down next to Otabek and felt his arm circling his waist, pulling him closer against his chest. Beka reached for the blanket, covering them both as soon as Yuri eased into the embrace, holding onto the hand hugging him from behind. He snuggled even closer and Beka let go of him to reach up, carding his fingers through his hair, brushing it down. Yuri felt a warm breath on the back of his neck.

“I wish we had a say in these things,” Beka said, and his arm returned to Yuri’s waist, holding him. 

“Yeah,” Yuri whispered with his throat tight, his eyes still wide open, staring into the darkness in front of him. “Beka?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

Beka tensed up behind him but he didn’t move away. 

“You’ve already said that.”

“I know. Just wanted to say it again.”

He kept waiting for a response until he felt exhaustion overtake him and he curled up under the blanket, falling asleep to the steady rhythym of Beka’s heartbeat beside his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a big couch, okay?


	13. Part 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He closed his eyes, willing himself to stop shaking as he slowly let out a breath. He could always breathe easier around Otabek, his presence enough to lift some of the weight from his chest, to loosen the rope he felt had been tied around his lungs for the past few years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is IT. The moment we've been waiting for. Thank you for your patience, I'm sorry you had to wait so long for the update, but I hope I can make up for it with this chapter.
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> 1\. I kinda blatantly obviously copied a line from Doctor Who, I couldn't resist, so to all my fellow Whovians, there is an easter egg in here somewhere.  
> 2\. At one point the subject of Eurovision comes up, with no names and I'm not referring to anyone in particular.  
> 3\. I'm pretty sure there was a 3rd very important point here but it's almost 4.30 am and I can't remember what it was. I'll update when (if) I remember.
> 
> +1: I remember. I just wanted to mention that apparently I have a thing for kitchens/kitchen scenes?
> 
> I hope you're going to like it, have fun, and as usual, if you liked it, hated it, or you just want to scream at me about anything, leave a comment at the end. 
> 
> Thank you, and enjoy!

Yuri couldn’t remember the last time he woke up to the sweet, lingering smell of pancakes in the morning. 

He took a minute to just enjoy it, keeping his eyes shut, letting his sleepy mind awaken in its own pace, slowly clearing the haze of his dreams behind his closed eyelids. He turned to lie on his back, feeling the edge of a pillow uncomfortably dig into his shoulder blade, and he squirmed further under the blanket until he was comfortable enough to go back to sleep for a few more minutes. His brain vaguely registered that it was Thursday which meant that he had not only one, but two days off with nothing to do.

 _Wait, pancakes?_ He slid further under the blanket and cautiously cracked one eye open, frowning at the wall of his living room.  
And then, everything from the previous day came back to him all at once, down to the last detail. 

He spent the night on his couch with Beka. His neck hurt like hell from sleeping on the one pillow he fucking hated because it wasn’t soft enough and he had to awkwardly crane his neck or rest his shoulders on it too. Overall it was just uncomfortable and he usually gave it to Polina when she crashed at his place because for some reason she seemed to like breaking her spine on it. This time though, Yuri slept soundly through the night. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the sharp pain in his neck when he remembered the feeling of Beka holding him, his chest flush against Yuri’s back, his arm circling his waist, locking him in a loose embrace. The ghost of his breath, nose buried in the nape of his neck, leaving every inch of Yuri’s skin that was touched by Beka tingling and now longing for that feeling again.

He turned to his stomach and proceeded to sink his face in the pillow, letting out a muffled groan.

He woke up alone but everything around him smelled like Beka. He recognized the faint traces of his cologne on the blanket where he pulled it up to his nose, felt it on the pillow under him and on his own t-shirt. He tried to stick his hand out from under the comforter and get ahold of his hair. Maybe he imagined it, but even that held the same scent, light and rich like a warming spice and he cuddled up against that horrible pillow, wishing he could go back to sleep with Otabek wrapped around him. 

They slept together. He needed to repeat it a few times to fully grasp the meaning of the words, because his brain was still on autopilot, trying to work through everything that had happened from the moment Beka showed up at the rink. He was just starting to wonder why he was alone on the couch when his ears registered a strange noise coming from the corner of the room and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. 

And then he stared. Hard. 

“Oh, you’re up. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Yuri stared some more and then dropped his head back down with another groan, louder this time. He heard a chuckle coming from the kitchen and the sweet smell of american pancakes found its way to his nose again, eventually making him sit up for a second time and swinging his leg over to tap his naked feet on the floor.

He didn’t even try and cover his mouth and he let out a loud yawn, stretching as he stood up from the couch. He made his way to the kitchen table in the corner and plopped down to a chair there, not having the energy to do any more than that, and continued to stare.

Otabek was standing in his kitchen, wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt, holding a spatula. Yuri didn’t even know he had a spatula. He watched as Beka casually threw a pancake up in the air, making it turn around before it fell back in the pan. He was making breakfast for them and Yuri’s brain was still slow and groggy but through his dazed, unfocused staring and his foggy thoughts he thought he could remember faintly that they were supposed to be fighting. Or talking. Or something that probably didn’t involve Beka making him pancakes like it was something he did every morning.

He decided not to say anything though, not yet anyway. He walked over to the counter, eyes momentarily lingering on Beka’s shoulder blades that moved swiftly under his shirt as he pulled his hand back. He looked… fine, Yuri thought for lack of a better word. Relaxed. His eyes darted away from the frying pan, settling on him with a questioning raise of his brows when Yuri stopped next to him. He shrugged in response before he turned towards the almost empty bowl on the counter sticking his finger in the smooth mix and licking it clean.

“That’s gross,” Otabek commented and Yuri looked up at him, scanning his profile.

“Your face is gross,” he replied, voice still rough from the lack of use and he yawned again, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. He stretched and cleared his throat, watching as Beka focused on the pancakes a little too hard, only blinking in his direction once. 

“Well, me and my gross face made you coffee,” he replied, pushing a full mug in front of him before returning his attention to the stove. 

“I take it back,” Yuri said, grabbing the mug tightly and taking a careful sip. It was exactly how he liked it. Of course it was. “Your face is fine, I guess.” He turned to sit back down at the table but stopped when a sudden realization hit him and he raised his head again to look at Beka, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“I didn’t even have any milk.”

Beka didn’t answer so Yuri narrowed his eyes and went on, stepping closer to him.

“Or eggs. And you changed your clothes.”

There was a small smile playing on Beka’s lips and Yuri’s voice lost its edge, his morning grumpiness turning into nothing more than light teasing. 

“So you did leave me here alone after all.”

Otabek turned and with a single move, grabbed a piece of paper from the counter and pushed it against Yuri’s forehead with his thumb. 

“That’s why I left this,” he said, biting his lip in concentration as he smoothed down the edges with his fingers, brushing away Yuri’s hair in the process, “in case you woke up and didn’t find me here.”

Yuri felt the glue of a post-it note sticking to his skin and he reached up to take it off. There were two short sentences scribbled on it and he recognized Beka’s handwriting, all straight lines and small gaps between the letters.

_“Don’t freak out. I’m coming back with breakfast.”_

“Fucking smartass,” Yuri muttered under his nose and went back to the table to sit down, putting one foot up, resting his heel on the edge of the chair. He fiddled with the note, smoothing down the paper absent-mindedly while he was watching Otabek.

He could see the tension in his back, now that he took a longer, closer look at him. His muscles were tight, shoulders hunched, and he seemed to focus on the pancakes a bit too much, keeping his eyes strictly on the food in front of him, barely even looking in Yuri’s direction. Even when he gave him the note, facing him and touching his forehead he never quite looked at him.

He recognized this particular posture of his, he’d seen it before. This was Beka when something bothered him and he wasn’t sure he was ready to bring it up. He always found a task to do to take his mind off of it, pretending that everything was okay until he decided to talk, and although Yuri usually saw through it, he had learnt to let him be. This time though he was a little short on patience and he stood up to help, as if he could speed up the process by setting the table.

He took a moment to marvel at how normal this felt, how easily Otabek fit into his life, his apartment, making pancakes, standing in his kitchen and Yuri’s heart twisted painfully in his chest when he realized just how much he loved this and wanted to keep him by his side every day for the rest of his life. They could live like this, get up in the morning after spending the night together, make some breakfast, and Yuri would even help, do the dishes or set the table like he did now, moving around each other in comfortable silence. Sometimes he would make pirozhki for Beka and then they would head to work, saying goodbye with a kiss and a promise that their next day would be exactly the same. 

Yuri watched him silently and found it hard to believe that they didn’t belong together, that something this perfect and natural wasn’t supposed to be. 

“I could get used to this,” he heard himself say, and the next second he was horrified by his own words, rushing to correct himself, to fix his mistake before Beka got the wrong idea. Or the right one, for that matter. “Getting free breakfast.”

No, no, no. He needed to remind himself that this probably won’t even last long enough for him to get used to it, because there was a good chance that after this, it will never happen again. 

Beka frowned, a confused expression appearing on his face.

“Who said it was free?” 

“No, I mean, I just...” he tried to explain, waving with a hand as if that would make what he meant clearer. He was still flustered and hoped Beka didn’t misunderstand him. Or did misunderstand him, whichever made this conversation less awkward. He stopped talking, letting a frustrated sigh escape his lips and he scowled, a sudden wave of anger clouding his mind. “Whatever, forget it.”

“I was joking, Yuri.” The small, apologetic smile on Beka’s face didn’t make him feel any better, and he propped his hand up on the table, resting his cheek in his palm. 

“Right.”

It wasn’t right, nothing was right. Everything felt slightly off, their banter too forced, Beka too tense, Yuri too nervous as he kept waiting. 

They ate together in silence, and it definitely wasn’t the comfortable one Yuri would have preferred. It was the kind of silence he could hear in the doctor’s office or at university, right after a professor asked to speak with him. The kind of silence between messing up a jump and Yakov’s inevitable lecture. A silence full of anticipation, worry and half-imagined, half-real warning signs. 

Beka wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he examined his pancake like it was the most interesting thing in the world right now, and Yuri felt the weight of unsaid words filling him up, just waiting to get out in the open, laid between them.

“Beka,” he starts hesitantly. _I wanted to kiss you last night. I want to kiss you right now. At least fucking look at me if you won’t talk._ Otabek glanced up, his expression shifting into something closed and distant and Yuri’s words died on his lips right away. “I… these are really good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes returned to his plate and Yuri wanted to scream, wanted to yell at him or punch him to just draw one small reaction, one word, anything other this forced politeness. He only wanted one tiny flicker of real emotion in Beka’s voice. He stood up, grabbing his plate and putting it into the sink, turning away.

“Do you have to work today?” Yuri jerked his head up when he heard him speak, staring at Beka’s back. 

“No, no I don’t.”

“And… any other plans?” Beka turned his head slightly but didn’t look at him. His eyes were fixed on the edge of the table, lowered so Yuri couldn’t read his expression hidden under the long black eyelashes. “With your boyfriend maybe?”

Yuri clenched his jaw and remained standing behind him. He ignored the way his stomach tightened and replied through gritted teeth.

“I think I’ve told you already that I don’t have one.”

At that, he did see him roll his eyes.

“That guy you go on dates with, then?”

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but something in Beka’s tone managed to piss him off even more, the coldness of his voice surprising him too when he answered.

“ _That guy_ is called Misha and I’m not dating him anymore.”

“Oh.”

That was it. Beka turned back to his plate and Yuri glared at his back for a few more seconds, waiting for him to talk, to say something other than a simple ‘oh’. Once again, silence fell around them and Yuri felt like there was a huge invisible wall around Beka with the sole purpose of keeping him out.

“I’ll go brush my teeth,” he muttered under his breath and if he shut the bathroom door a little too hard, he thought it was understandable. 

He stared at himself in the mirror, grabbing his toothbrush from the glass on the sink. 

“Fuck you,” he said out loud and he wasn’t sure if it was aimed at himself or at Otabek or maybe at this whole situation. Beka showed up on the pub’s doorstep yesterday looking like hell, gave him a ride home at 2 am, spent the night because Yuri asked him to, and he promised to tell him why. 

Yuri knew he was impatient, it had barely been an hour since he woke up, but still, Beka promised and then completely shut him off, not only avoiding the whole subject but even avoiding to look at him, like it pained him to do so. 

He was in the middle of furiously brushing his teeth when he heard three quick, loud knocks on the door. He stopped and hesitated for a second before he stepped closer to open it, revealing Otabek on the other side. He had his fists clenched, shoulders still tense and jaw tight, swallowing hard. Yuri didn’t have time to say anything before Beka spoke, loud and rushed like he only now gained enough courage to talk and wanted to get it over with while he could.

“You said I didn’t deserve it. Why?” 

Yuri stilled at that, toothbrush hanging from his lips, his hands dropping from the doorknob. Out of all the questions he thought Otabek might have, this one took him by surprise.

“What?” he asked and he felt toothpaste dripping on his chin. He quickly leaned over the sink and washed his mouth, taking a second to compose himself before he straightened up, looking at Beka again. 

“Yesterday, you said,” he started again slowly, clenching his jaw, “that you screwed up and I didn’t deserve any of it. I need to know what you meant by that.”

Yuri stepped out of the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him and walked back to the living room. He expected the familiar feeling of panic rising from his stomach to his throat, but it didn’t come. It made sense after all, he knew that sooner or later he would have to tell the truth, he owed it to Beka and their friendship. He was tired of keeping secrets anyway.

Still, when Otabek came to stand in front of him, a light crinkle on his forehead telling Yuri that he, too was nervous, he wished he could just take one step forward and hide himself in his arms. To have Beka hold him, so Yuri could escape from this moment, to have that sense of belonging, the feeling of home, locked in Beka’s arms. He was only one step away but it felt like a hundred miles were between them, keeping Yuri from the only thing that truly brought comfort for him. 

Neither of them moved and yet, the distance seemed to grow with every second that passed by silently. 

Yuri imagined this conversation many times in the past, dreamt about the day he would gain enough courage and confidence to get his shit together and confess his feelings to Beka. He used to think it would happen after a competition, at the banquet or the hotel, taking comfort in knowing that the next day they would fly back to their own countries and he wouldn’t have to face him for weeks if he got rejected. He had an unlimited supply of carefully crafted sentences, every word chosen and planned in advance so that Beka would know how serious he was about this and it wasn’t just childish infatuation, but somehow still keep it from being too grand and romantic so they could forget about it if Beka didn’t feel the same. 

He couldn’t remember any of those words at the moment. But then again, he always hoped for a scenario in which Beka would confess before he had to, or just kissed him one day and Yuri would only have to respond, reassure him that yes, he did feel the same way. This always made more sense to him because as quiet and reserved Beka was, he was always straightforward with Yuri, better with words and feelings than him. 

He stayed quiet for a long time and Beka stepped closer to him, taking his hand and finally, _finally_ looking up at him and Yuri forgot to breathe. 

“Yura. Please just tell me.”

Otabek softly saying his name was what broke the barriers in the end and Yuri squeezed his hand, fighting the urge to close the distance between them. He lowered his head, not being able to return his gaze and the words slipped out of him before he could stop them. 

“You never did anything wrong, Beka, it was all me, I fucked up, I fucked up so badly. I was… I had…” 

He stopped to draw a breath, closing his eyes and letting Beka go to compose himself. It was only a few words, it really wasn’t that hard, was it? He had nine years to get used to the idea of telling him. 

Beka’s eyes refused to leave his now, not letting them betray his emotions. He seemed to be calmer now, like even asking the question, getting it out in the open helped him lose some of the tension building up in him. He held his gaze, patiently waiting for him and Yuri knew that now that he started talking, Beka would give him as much time as he needed. 

It was so painfully _him_ that Yuri almost laughed when he realized it. Beka hadn’t stressed over whatever Yuri was going to say, he was only tense and distant until he worked through his own issues and asked his question. Then he visibly relaxed and knowing that he wouldn’t be able to change the answer he would receive from Yuri, he just braced himself against anything he might hear. 

Yuri held onto this familiarity, clinging to it as it kept alive the thought that this was Beka he was talking to. His best friend, other half, partner on ice and in crime, the one person who understood him like no one ever had before. The one person Yuri understood like he did no one else.

His legs started moving on their own, serving as another anchor to the reality around him and he walked over to the kitchen, glancing out of the narrow window beside the counter. 

This was Beka, his best friend who had never made fun of his emotions, never downplayed their validity, believed in his dreams almost more than he himself did. Maybe he was going to hate him, but he would understand. He had to. 

He drew another breath and turned away from the window, eyes returning to Beka standing still in the middle of the room, waiting for him. 

“I was in love with you.”

He swallowed hard, catching short, shivery breaths as he carefully examined Beka’s reaction, but he didn’t say anything. He saw his lips parting slightly but then closed his mouth again, a soft frown creasing his forehead, confusion and shock shadowing his expression. Yuri decided to keep talking.

“So yeah. I was scared shitless and I couldn’t… I didn’t know how to handle it so I just didn’t handle it at all.”

He could feel his palms sweating and he tugged on his t-shirt, still wearing the one he was sleeping in. Beka had gone pale, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked and he stood frozen in his place, too far away for Yuri to reach out and touch him. When he spoke, his voice was ragged like he was fighting to get the words out.

“I- What?”

Yuri scoffed.

“You cannot seriously tell me that you never even suspected.”

And then he saw something flashing in Otabek’s eyes as he gave him a sharp look, a moment of anger deepening the darkness in them before he replied, his voice cutting into Yuri’s skin like a blade.

“Well, I didn’t. And…” Yuri knew that whatever he hesitated to say was going to hurt and he braced himself against it, pressing his lips together in a thin line. “ _That_ ’s it?”

So much for downplaying emotions, Yuri thought. Maybe it did sound like a ridiculous reason because it was so easy to put it into words but that didn’t mean it wasn’t to be taken seriously. It sounded like nothing, but those two short sentences summed up years of pining and longing and suffering, sleepless nights, doubts, wishes, daydreams and fears. 

Beka was just surprised, he told himself. He had probably had multiple ideas about what Yuri was going to tell him, and he just didn’t expect this. Caught off guard, he reacted without thinking. 

It didn’t make the disbelieving ‘That’s it?’ hurt any less. It didn’t make it sound less like Beka didn’t think it was a valid reason to leave. 

“Yeah, that’s fucking it,” he was scowling, crossing his arms as he turned to lean against the counter. He willed himself to stay calm, to not snap at Otabek. He had to remind himself that he had no right to do that, he wasn’t allowed to be angry at him for not being immediately understanding and forgiving just because it was what Yuri wanted. “I’m sorry if it’s something you didn’t want to hear or would have preferred not knowing but that’s it and I can’t change that.”

“I thought you hated me,” Otabek spoke slowly, the lines on his forehead fading but remaining visible as he did his best to school his expression. “I thought I hurt you and I didn’t even notice. I kept replaying every conversation in my head, went through everything I’d said and done to try and figure out what I did wrong. I was convinced that it must have been something horrible to make you hate me so much and I felt like an asshole for not even realizing my own mistake. And then five years later you tell me that I didn’t deserve it.” Beka raked a hand through his hair, crossing the room in a few steps before turning back towards him. It was as close as he ever got to pacing and Yuri had never seen him like this, confused and upset, especially not with him as the reason. His stomach clenched in a tight knot when wide dark brown eyes found his again, hair sticking up where he carded his fingers through it, cheeks turning slightly pink with his anger slowly rising under the surface and Yuri once again found himself wishing he could kiss away that small frown sitting stubbornly between his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He shrugged, making a face and turning his head to stare at his feet.

“I guess I was afraid I would lose you.”

It was a dumb response, he knew that. He knew it the second the words left his lips but still when Beka huffed out a small, bitter laugh, his entire body went ice cold and he felt a lump growing steadily in his chest, making it difficult to breathe properly. 

“But you lost me anyway,” he heard him say and then Beka winced, his hand flying up to rub the back of his neck in embarassment. He moved closer to him, quietly cursing under his breath. “Shit, Yura, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted him, because the last thing he wanted to hear was Otabek apologizing to him, “I deserved that, didn’t I?”

Beka didn’t disagree but he looked away with eyes filled with guilt, thinking for a few seconds in silence before he glanced back and started speaking in a low but unwavering voice. 

“Do you think I care for you so little that it would have made a difference? That I would have resented you for it? You wouldn’t have lost me, Yura, you had to know that.”

“Oh, great,” Yuri replied in a dry tone, hoping to mask the tears that swelled in the corner of his eyes, “that would have been so much better. Sweeping my feelings under a rug and pretending that everything is fine, still being my best friend, talking to me everyday and shit, acting like it doesn’t matter. It fucking mattered to me, Beka, don’t you get it? What would you have done? Send me a cat video the day after I told you I loved you and you rejected me? Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference for you but it made all the difference for me. Seriously,” he said because suddenly he needed to know, he needed to hear it from Otabek, “what would you have said if I had told you back then?”

“I don’t know,” he said without hesitation, “you never gave me a chance to say anything.”

“Yeah,” Yuri whispered, “no offense but not knowing is a no.”

Once again, Otabek didn’t disagree with him and Yuri felt a dull pain throbbing behind his ribs, taking his silence as confirmation that he was right. He thought it would hurt more, finally getting his answer after five years, but having been constantly reminding himself that his feelings were unrequited seemed to have prepared him for this moment, soothing the ache in his chest as he came to the realization that this was it. 

This was it, the truth had been said, with only one tiny detail that Yuri had been trying to push away, force out of his mind because he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit it. 

That he still felt the same way about him. 

He was torn between his fear of losing Beka and his fear of making the same mistake again by keeping it from him, but before he could make a decision, a painfully loud ringing drew his attention to the kitchen table where Beka’s phone was going off. He picked it up without thinking to hand it to him, glancing at the screen on instinct and his heart twisted again when he immediately recognized the caller. 

Beka shot him an apologetic look and answered his phone in a low, polite voice, speaking that strange mix of kazakh, russian and english that he’d heard him use many times before when he visited him in Almaty. Yuri glanced at his own feet, realizing that he was still wearing his pyjamas and he made his way to his room to change, giving Beka some privacy to talk. 

As soon as he closed the door behind himself he dropped down on his bed with a heavy sigh and then laid back to sprawl across it on top of his blanket.

They called him from the rink in Almaty where Otabek had trained when he was still competing. 

Maybe he _was_ going back to open his own skating school there. He really wouldn’t have been surprised if that were the case. Beka must have missed his family, and Yuri knew that he had a lot of friends there who would welcome him back with open arms. Not to mention that he would probably never be out of a job at his home rink, with all the kids lining up to have the Hero of Kazakhstan as their coach. 

There were absolutely no downsides to it, and it made so much more sense than staying in St. Petersburg where he barely knew anyone, training the few skaters who hadn’t left after Yakov announced his retirement. 

Yuri would probably never see him again. 

He stood up, dragging himself across the room to dig up some clothes he could change into. He tried to take his mind off of the idea of Otabek leaving, but he couldn’t make the bitter taste in his mouth disappear and the returning thought of not being good enough stubbornly settling in his mind. 

He wasn’t enough to keep Beka in Russia. It really shouldn’t have bothered him that much after the conversation they had just had, but it made him feel worse than him not returning his feelings. Beka didn’t want his love but his friendship alone wasn’t enough anymore.

He stopped just outside the door, listening quietly to decide if he should go back. He understood mainly half of what Beka was saying but he didn’t want to hear any of it, not even accidentally catching a word. He knew he was imagining half of these things with no actual proof to support their truth but these ideas sent him spiraling into panic mode and he willed himself to calm down, catching the doorframe and holding onto it.

He forced himself to snap out of it, slowly counting in his head to control his breathing like Yuuri showed him in Hasetsu. He felt more or less okay with his chest rising and falling steadily without shivering, but he still waited a good two minutes until he was sure he’d be fine. Beka wasn’t talking anymore, and Yuri went back to sit down next to him on the couch, as close as he could without touching him. He eyed the folded blanket and the pillow placed carefully on the other end of the sofa, and for a while, neither of them spoke. 

He felt tired, like all the energy had been sucked from the room suddenly and he remembered that he had no idea what time it was or how much he actually slept after his shift last night. He risked looking at Beka, quietly observing his face as he realized that he woke up well before him, which meant that he probably felt the same if not worse. He seemed drained, empty like all the anger and confusion had left his body and mind, leaving him to deal with everything Yuri had told him with a clear head. 

“Are you okay?” Beka asked him without sparing a glance in his direction, staring at his hands in his lap.

“That depends,” he said after taking a moment to consider his answer, nervously fidgeting in his seat, “how much do you hate me right now?”

That made Otabek turn his head towards him, his lips pulling into an impossibly small but warm smile that made his expression soften around the edges, brightening his brown eyes with a golden light that made Yuri’s heart sing in his chest.

“Only a little.”

“Good, that’s… good,” he decided after a short hesitation and he turned back, staring at the empty space in front of them before he added quietly, “I hate fighting with you. It’s exhausting.”

Beka hummed in agreement.

“Maybe because we’ve never done it before.”

He leaned back, resting the nape of his neck on the couch and Yuri scooted a little bit closer to him, poking his arm with his elbow.

“Of course we have.” Seeing his puzzled frown, he went on, feeling encouraged by Beka’s reserved, but visibly more relaxed attitude towards him. This was something he was familiar with, something he could handle and he was grateful for the temporary break even if he knew that Otabek would still want to talk about this. Or at least Yuri had hoped that he would want to because that would mean he was still fighting for their friendship just as hard as Yuri was. “One word, Beka. Eurovision.”

“That wasn’t a fight. I wouldn’t even call it an argument. A disagreement, at best.”

“Please, it was deadly serious. We were like this close to a friendship breakup.” 

He raised a hand to show him just how close he meant and then dropped it back in his lap lazily, risking another glance at the man next to him. He was dancing on dangerously thin ice using those words, but Otabek didn’t seem to be bothered by it and quietly answered him after a few moments. 

“I still think the polish girl should have won.”

“Oh my god, I will fight you.”

Beka chuckled in response and reached out for his hand, easing Yuri’s discomfort immediately. He’d been awkwardly trying to keep a physical distance between them and the light touch was enough reassurance that he didn’t have to. He pulled up his knees, shifting so he could sit pressed against his side and leaned down to rest his head on his shoulder. 

Beka squeezed his hand, his thumb drawing crescent moons on his skin.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice how you felt.”

“It’s not your fault,” Yuri said and turned to curl into him, careful not to shatter the moment by moving too much, “I should have told you.”

“You loved me,” Otabek repeated his confession and his tone became heavier, like there was a weight sitting on his voice, pulling him and his words down. “How could I not see it?”

“I was pretty good at hiding it,” Yuri murmured, the cautious use of past tense making him feel like he was lying, “but it fucking sucked.”

“I’m sorry,” he heard the reply and it made him roll his eyes because really, Beka kept apologizing for things Yuri had brought on himself on his own. 

“Stop saying that.”

He desperately needed to change the subject and he remembered the phone call. The question was out before he could think it through. 

“Are you going to move back to Almaty?”

He felt Beka turn his head and shift against him.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because your family is there. Because you loved training in Kazakhstan,” Yuri listed the possible reasons and he could feel Beka’s gaze on him but he didn’t look up, keeping his eyes on their entwined fingers. “Because it’s your home.”

He didn’t mention the reason he feared to be true the most, that there was nothing for Beka in Saint Petersburg anymore. 

“Russia is also my home, you know,” he replied, “I spent most of my childhood here, training in Moscow.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Yuri said, but he wasn’t completely satisfied with the answer, so he kept pushing. “But it would make sense. Your whole life is there.”

“My skaters are here,” Otabek bumped their shoulders together, “you’re here.”

Yuri ignored the way his heart swelled at hearing that, the memory of his stomach clenching upon seeing the caller ID overshadowing the relief he felt.

“But they called you from your old rink just now, didn’t they?”

“They asked me to participate in a seminar about jumping technique,” Beka told him, tilting his head forward to search for his eyes, as if he could sense that he needed more convincing. “I’m not going back. You would know if I planned something like that.”

“Really?” he asked, unable to stop the words now, “because you have a habit of not telling me things.”

He could feel him tense up and Yuri reluctantly pulled away to give him some space. Beka dropped his hand and stood up from the couch, turning to face him with his lips pressed into a thin line, and Yuri knew that the short, peaceful break was over.

“You understand why, though, don’t you?” When Yuri didn’t reply, he sighed, eyes dropping from him for a second as he seemed to choose his words carefully. “I know that it wasn’t the right way to handle things. I wanted to move on, start again and put everything behind us, and at first I honestly thought I could do it. But I still had no idea what had happened back then, and I was walking on eggshells around you because I thought…” his voice faltered, the end of the sentence being swallowed by a light handwave, but he didn’t need to finish it anyway because Yuri suddenly understood.

“You thought you’d done something wrong but you didn’t know what it was and you didn’t want to accidentally hurt me. _Again_.” The words tasted bitter on his lips and he welcomed the overwhelming guilt like an old friend, taking its usual place inside him, filling him up from his chest all the way down to his fingertips. It didn’t hit him with the same, destructive force as before but the unshakable thought of ‘ _my fault_ ’ was flowing through his mind, steadily pushing down on him and he stood up too, as though he wanted to physically distance himself from it. 

Beka looked defeated, a sad smile forming on his lips.

“Yeah. I was afraid I would say the wrong thing or do something and then you’d be gone again.”

Feeling numb and tired, Yuri went to the kitchen to pour himself a second cup of coffee and the insistent voice inside his head followed him mercilessly. It even got louder, muting the noise of the apartment around him, his grandpa’s rusty, old clock ticking on the wall, the sound of his mug hitting the counter and the warm, unwavering voice of Otabek who was still standing by the couch, looking at him intently. 

“What?” Yuri asked because he couldn’t hear him over the growing noise inside his own head, one part of him persistently chanting ‘ _my fault, my fault, my fault_ ’ while the other telling him to just drop everything and kiss Beka because what the hell did it even matter anymore. 

Otabek seemed to have a bigger problem with him not having been honest five years ago, than the fact that Yuri cut him off because he was in love with him. If he could forgive him for that once, maybe he could do it again and he wouldn’t have to spend five years wondering why Yuri had left. 

Of course he had come to accept a while ago that if he did confess his feelings, he would have to get used to the same scenario he described to Beka earlier. Pretending that everything was alright, staying friends, Otabek keeping a respectful distance while both of them acted like it didn’t change anything. It would be hard, but not as hard as not having him in his life at all. 

“What you said,” Beka tried to clarify, unaware that Yuri hadn’t heard him at all for the first time, “you were right.”

He walked over, stopping right in front of him, and Yuri still had no idea what he was talking about. 

“It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to mess things up with you again,” he said, “You were right about the other thing. I’ve been acting like there was something wrong with you. I was trying to fix you and for that, I owe you an apology.”

Yuri felt his breath stuck in his throat, his eyes widening as he realized what Otabek was referring to. Memories of him asking if they were friends at all came back flooding over him accompanied by words like _guilt_ and _progress_ as he recalled demanding an answer, demanding to know if Beka had even wanted him in his life. His mouth fell open but not one word came out and his lower lip was trembling slightly so he closed it again, gripping his mug tightly and forcing himself to take a sip of his coffee just to do something until he figured out how to respond. Beka was watching him, taking one more step until he was close enough to reach out and Yuri put the mug down on the counter to free his hand and meet him in the middle. 

“It wasn’t because I feel guilty,” Beka told him, holding his wrists close to his chest, “I need you to know that.”

Yuri cast his eyes down and breathed in, his fingers curling into Beka’s t-shirt.

“You once told me that I had the eyes of a soldier,” he said, and Otabek pulled him closer, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of his head, his other hand curling around his waist.

“You still do,” he replied in a low voice, “you’ve always been fighting, I shouldn’t have forgotten that.”

He shouldn’t have, Yuri agreed silently, only nodding with his forehead against the broad shoulder he was leaning into. He shouldn’t have forgotten, but he forgave him the moment he looked into Beka’s eyes and saw the remorse painted in their darkness, like Otabek had somehow failed him.

“I’m not broken,” he said quietly, as much to himself as to Beka and he repeated it once just to make sure they both understood, “I’m not broken. But you treated me like I was.”

Beka’s lips were at his ear, whispering soothing words and his breath danced across Yuri’s skin, leaving a cold trail after that made him shiver.

“I know, I know you’re not. I’m sorry.”

Yuri didn’t ask him not to apologize this time. He wrapped his arms around Beka, clutching the white t-shirt, clinging to him as he admitted something he hadn’t dared to say out loud before.

“There were- there _are_ days when I think I am, but I know it’s not true.”

He held onto Beka with everything he had, all the emotions he’d been bottling up tearing him up inside and he tried, he tried to let them all go, to let himself be carried away with them but there was one last secret he had, one last thing he hadn’t said out loud that burned him up until he there was no way he could have possibly kept it to himself.

His heart was drumming against his chest with such force that he was sure Otabek could feel it too, and Yuri squeezed his arms around him one more time, letting go of his t-shirt so he could brush his palms against his back, tracing the line of his muscles, savouring the moment in case it was the last one he was ever going to get.

“Beka,” he whispered into his neck and Otabek hummed, combing through his hair where his hand rested on the back of his head, keeping him close.

“Running away from you?” He closed his eyes, willing himself to stop shaking as he slowly let out a breath. He could always breathe easier around Otabek, his presence enough to lift some of the weight from his chest, to loosen the rope he felt had been tied around his lungs for the past few years. “It didn’t help.”

For a long, agonizing moment there was only silence. 

Beka went impossibly still, holding his breath before he huffed out a small laugh, and it was so, so different from the earlier one, just a feather-like puff of air caressing the skin behind Yuri’s ear before he pulled him even closer, his fingers sinking further into Yuri’s hair, carding through the blonde strands. He let his head drop on his shoulder and buried his nose in the crook of Yuri’s neck, taking a deep breath before he took a step back to look at him.

Yuri felt like his heart was going to burst if the silence stretched out any longer.

“Will you just say something?” he blurted out and Beka brought his hand up to cup his chin, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m glad you told me,” he said and Yuri waited because that reply was giving him nothing and he was still shaking, feeling like everything inside him was tied up in a knot, “because this time I know exactly what my answer is.”

The hand slid from his hair to softly trace the line of his cheekbone, fingertips dancing across his skin and Yuri was speechless, not daring to believe that he managed to comprehend the words, because that would have meant that Beka felt the same way about him and he wasn’t sure he could come back from the downfall of being wrong about this.

“Is that a good thing?” he asked, surprised that he found his voice, even if it came out a little ragged. Beka bumped their noses together, smiling against his skin.

“The best.”

And then he was kissing Yuri, just a warm, gentle press of lips against lips, and Yuri's entire body lit up under the touch, hands flying up to sneak around Beka's neck, pulling him closer. With his last coherent thought he reminded himself to breathe and he sighed into the kiss, tilting his head for a better angle to capture Beka's lower lip between his own. He felt a hand dropping to his waist to wrap him in a tight hug and he went without hesitation, melting into the embrace. Beka held him in his arms and it was like the first time his blades touched the ice after years of longing, like the world around him had shifted, everything sliding into its rightful place where they were supposed to be.

He was where he was supposed to be, where he belonged, locked in Beka’s arms, their lips moving against each other, fitting together perfectly. Otabek was his home and Yuri had finally arrived.

He felt the impatient urge of wanting more, their kiss growing more heated and needy as Yuri tangled his fingers in the longer strands of Beka’s hair, bringing them down to rake his nails across the buzz cut on both side. Beka moaned into his mouth, a low, desperate sound from the back of his throat that sent jolts through Yuri’s body. Before he could realize what was happening, he was pushed against the counter behind him, the edge digging into the small of his back and Beka leaned over him, giving him another peck on the lips then pulling away, panting quietly against his mouth.

While they were catching their breaths, Yuri’s brain had started to catch up with everything that had happened and he tapped on Beka’s shoulder, sliding his hand up to brush his thumb against his lips, marveling at how amazing he looked with his mouth kissed to a darker shade, a light blush on his cheeks and his hair tousled up where Yuri had buried his fingers in it.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said, still breathing hard but wanting to get the first thing out that came to his mind after he was capable of thinking more or less clearly again, “you didn’t tell me either.”

Beka was mouthing at his jawline, leaving a trail of kisses along the way and Yuri was almost ready to let the subject drop entirely when he got a reply, murmured into his skin.

“I asked you to come back.” Beka leaned away, but not before he stole another kiss and Yuri felt dizzy from all the emotions swirling inside him. “I told you there was something I wanted to talk to you about. I asked you to come back after your exam, remember?”

Yuri had a hard time remembering anything at the moment, but he nodded, the memory of that day not being an easy one to forget.

“I assumed it was about the pictures.”

“I told you, I only found out about them the next morning,” Beka said and he closed his eyes, placing yet another quick kiss on his lips. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t really in the mood to listen to what you were saying, so I kinda missed that part,” Yuri replied in between kisses, perfectly content and happy to stay like that forever, wrapped in Otabek’s arms.

“Yura,” Beka whispered his name into the next kiss, his breath hot on Yuri’s lower lip and Yuri grabbed the nape of his neck, pulling him back in right where he belonged. “Make sure you don’t miss this part,” he said, opening his eyes, looking at him like Yuri was the center of the universe and he never wanted to look at anything else, ever. He brushed his knuckles over his cheekbone, tucking his hair behind his ear and bumped their noses together with a fond smile. “I love you.”

Something swelled inside Yuri’s chest and it took him a moment to realize that it was happiness, the kind he had never felt before. He took Otabek’s face in his hands, pressing a kiss between his eyebrows, even though there wasn’t a single frown he needed to smooth down.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo. There is still one more chapter left, it's kind of an epilogue, but more like the proper ending of the story, wrapping up all the storylines I left open. I mean, this part is literally just Beka and Yuri dealing with their issues and there are still some other things to talk about, like, you know, life outside of their relationship... So please bear with me for one more chapter and then it's well and truly over. 
> 
> By the way, I was THIS close to quoting "After all this time? -Always." if only I didn't dislike Snape so much.
> 
> And! If you have a few minutes to spare, please listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=negNniKYkYY) which basically sums up the entire story and I haven't been able to stop listening to it for weeks but for some reason I always forgot to post it here.
> 
> Also, this part, again, had no beta, not even me proof-reading because you know me, once I hit the last enter I just have to upload it right away. If you happen to notice any typos/mistakes, please let me know. Thank you!!


	14. Part 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Beka,” he started, and Otabek didn’t reply, just moved his head a little to show that he was listening. “I’m not going to leave again. You know that, right?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. Bits and pieces of Yuri's life after The Talk™
> 
> I'm sorry I was a bit late with this chapter but hey it's the last one, I had a hard time letting this story go, and also i had to make sure they get the ending they deserve. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Yuri Plisetsky had this special talent to predict a bad day before it even began.

And he was right every fucking time. 

The best part of these days was always that one second when the door finally closed behind him with a soft click, leaving everything that caused his bad mood on the other side. When he was finally just one step away from his bed, the darkness and the quiet of the night shielding him from the noise outside and he felt like he could breathe again. 

He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes, slowly exhaling before reached for his phone on the desk. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet and he miscalculated the distance, banging his toe against his chair and dropping his phone on the floor. He cursed through his gritted teeth and picked up the phone, checking the time.

_2:37 am_

He hadn’t even worked that day but his limbs were heavy and he was so tired he felt like he’d just had three shifts in a row. He moved around the room quietly, set an alarm for the next morning and thanked himself for taking a shower as soon as he got home, leaving nothing else for him to do but throw himself in his bed and pull the blanket over his head. 

He sat down with another sigh and dropped his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes and his temples. He was exhausted but his mind was still wide awake, head throbbing and ears buzzing with the noise he brought home with himself. 

He felt rather than heard the soft sounds of the blanket moving, a weight shifting behind him, a finger brushing against his skin below his waist, just over the hem of his pyjama pants.

“Yura?” 

He straightened up and reached down to take Beka’s hand, turning around to look at him. His eyes started getting used to the dark and he saw him blinking slowly, expression still hazy from the last remaining bits of his dreams, one strand of black hair stubbornly sticking up on his head. Yuri let go of his hand to smooth it down absent-mindedly, humming in response.

“What happened?” His voice was a bit raspy but he looked up at him with concern in his eyes.

Yuri carded his fingers through Beka’s hair and his hand slid down to leave a trail of feather-light touches on his cheekbone. He followed his own movements with his eyes while Beka was watching him closely, waiting patiently for his answer.

“She’s leaving.”

Otabek pressed his lips together and gave a sharp nod, understanding flashing in his eyes. He shifted closer to circle Yuri’s waist with his arm, gently pulling him up to get him to lie down.

“Come here.”

Yuri didn’t need to be told twice. He got under the covers and practically draped himself across Beka, his arm sneaking around his middle, their legs tangled together under the blanket. He pressed a kiss to his shoulder before he put his head down, letting out a content sigh.

“So she accepted the job in Moscow.”

“Mm.”

Yuri let his eyes fall shut, enjoying the warmth of Beka’s body against his, the weight of his arms around him that kept him close. His fingers danced in an endless line up and down his side, and Yuri placed his palm flat against his skin, feeling the steady beat of his heart underneath.

He was wrong, he realized as he felt Beka’s chest rise and fall under his touch, a nose nuzzling his hair and a kiss on the top of his head, given almost instinctively. Shutting the door behind him after a rough, stressful day, the moment he always considered the best part was nothing compared to this. 

“How is Polina?” Beka asked quietly after a few moments of comfortable silence had passed between them, and he shifted under Yuri, turning to his side so they would lie face to face. He seemed to be more awake now, as opposed to Yuri who felt sleep slowly creeping up on him, dragging him down as he snuggled closer to him, chasing the warmth of his skin under his cheek. Beka stopped him with a finger under his chin, softly nudging him to lift his head and look him in the eyes. “Is she okay?”

Yuri couldn’t stop a small huff escape his lips.

“No. She’s passed out on our couch,” he said, “basically she drank until she couldn’t walk anymore and I had to call a cab to get her ass here. I am so making her pay for the ride tomorrow.”

The end of his sentence was muffled by a loud yawn and Beka propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at him with an affectionate smile.

“I think she deserves at least a free ride after the night she had.”

“Like fuck she does,” Yuri replied in a flat voice, “she is miserable enough already, I’m not gonna make it worse by feeling sorry for her.” He tugged on Beka’s arm, curling his fingers around his bicep, pulling him down. “Now come here, I haven’t even had a proper kiss yet.”

Yuri slid his hands up to place them around Beka’s neck, drawing him in a slow, sleepy kiss. He felt fingers gently gripping his waist and he arched his back to press himself against Otabek, lifting his hips up to let the wandering hand circle him, sneaking under his t-shirt to rest on his bare skin. Beka’s lips were soft on his, moving slowly and Yuri tilted his head to deepen the kiss, bringing his fingers forward to scratch his nails against the light stubble, following the straight line along his jaw. 

Beka breathed into the kiss and Yuri revelled in the small sound he made, unable to stop the smile spreading on his face. There were moments when he still couldn’t quite believe how Beka seemed to melt against his lips, how he, Yuri alone was able to make him fall apart completely under his touch. It felt like having a special power, the way he sometimes made this reserved, composed man lose the perfectly kept stoicism and shatter the cool exterior to let the fire in his eyes burn up his whole body while Yuri broke down every carefully guarded wall standing in his way.

He grabbed his waist and shifted until Beka was lying on top of him and he was pinned between his chest and his arm around the small of his back. Beka freed his hand and used it to support his weight, resting it on the pillow next to him. 

Yuri had no intention to break down any walls tonight. He nipped at Beka’s lower lip once then let him go, leaning his head back and opening his eyes. 

“Hi,” Beka said with a smile, giving him a peck on his cheek, eyelashes fluttering against Yuri’s skin.

“Hi,” he replied, letting out another yawn before he continued, “now that’s a proper kiss.”

“Wait, let me take notes,” Beka pretended to move away and Yuri’s hands flew up to lock him in a hug around shoulders.

“Don’t. Move.”

Beka chuckled and settled down at his side, nose buried in the crook of Yuri’s neck. Yuri closed his eyes, making himself comfortable and resting his chin in Beka’s hair, despite knowing full well that he would soon start tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep until he squirmed his way out from under Otabek and lie on his stomach instead. It was still worth it, having Beka fall asleep in his arms. It was almost better than Yuri falling asleep in his. 

He’d just started to drift off when Otabek spoke again, his voice quiet but still perfectly audible in the silence of Yuri’s bedroom. 

“What do you think will happen to them now?”

“They’ll be fine,” he replied, “we only have a year left until graduation, then Polina can move to Moscow too. Or maybe Tatiana can come back if they offer her a position at the St. Petersburg office after all.”

“A lot can happen in a year.” 

“They love each other.” Yuri pressed his lips together and wondered if he was trying to convince Otabek or himself. “They will make it work.”

Beka didn’t move and didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Yuri could feel it nonetheless, that subtle change in the air around them, the way his words were hanging above them with a strange kind of heaviness that didn’t reach their shoulders to press down on them, but Yuri sort of felt like it _should_. It was in the unchanging beat of Otabek’s heart, the fingers lying still on Yuri’s skin, thumb resting on his collarbone. 

“Beka,” he started, and Otabek didn’t reply, just moved his head a little to show that he was listening. “I’m not going to leave again. You know that, right?”

Black hair brushed against his cheek, lips pressing softly to the spot where a huff of warm breath was tickling his skin. 

“I know,” Beka said, and the slightly amused tone made Yuri’s heart clench, “will you ever stop asking me that?”

He looked at him for a long moment, trying to make out his expression in the dark. It wasn’t like he needed to see him though, to know that something was off about his answer.

The thing is, Yuri had learnt a lot about both Beka and himself during the last few months. 

He’d learnt that Otabek was an excellent cook but absolutely terrible at doing laundry, always mixing the colours and having no idea what program to use. He’d learnt that they both secretly liked watching talent shows but never rooted for the same person and that caused some intense arguments between them. He knew that Otabek always made sure the whole apartment was clean before a guest arrived, even if it was just Polina, but kept wearing mismatched socks, sometimes even at formal events and skating competitions. 

He’d learnt that Beka liked to express his affection with small, casual touches, a hand on Yuri’s hip as he passed by, a kiss on his shoulders when he went to stand next to him in the kitchen, making coffee in a comfortable silence. Fingers playing with his hair while they were watching a movie, a thumb resting lightly on his neck. Beka wasn’t particularly fond of kissing in front of other people, but it seemed he always found a way, an excuse to touch Yuri nonetheless, grabbing his hand to show him something, palm pressing against his shoulder blade to lead him across the street, an ankle hooked around Yuri’s under the coffee table, fingers fixing his hair for him when the wind had messed it up. 

In return, Yuri had learnt a lot about himself too and proved to be a cat in human form as he draped himself all over Otabek whenever he needed attention. He sat on Beka’s lap while they were playing video games and jumped on his back when he felt like it, demanding that Otabek carry him around the apartment. He wrapped his arms and legs around him when he felt particularly needy in the mornings and didn’t want Beka to leave the comfort of their bed. He kissed him greedily, passionately, because sometimes he still couldn’t quite believe that he was allowed to, and needed to remind himself that Otabek was there and he could touch him whenever he wanted to. 

He’d also learnt that whenever Beka wasn’t telling him the truth, there was a slight hitch in his breath just before he spoke, his voice shifting and the words too light on his lips like they weren’t supposed to be there, like they held no meaning, no weight at all. He’d learnt that most of the times Beka didn’t even notice this, because he wasn’t aware that he was lying. 

Yuri hated the word ‘lying’ but he couldn’t find a better one, because whatever the truth was, it definitely wasn’t what Otabek had just told him.

“I will,” he replied, shifting on his side, “as soon as I hear an answer I actually believe.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just ran a hand down Beka’s side, tightening his hold on him. “Go to sleep, you have an early practice tomorrow. Have you set an alarm?”

“Yes I have, _mom_ ,” Yuri could practically hear the eyeroll in the words, but then Beka was moving again. He pushed himself up on his elbows to lean over him, eyes roaming across his face, blinking sleepily before they came to rest on Yuri’s own, gazing into them. “Yura?”

“What?” 

Beka smiled and reached up to card his fingers through his hair, brushing it aside, his eyes not leaving him for a second. “I’m getting there.”

Yuri examined his expression for a few seconds before he nodded, approving. 

“I’ll take it.” He pressed his palm against Beka’s forehead, pushing him away and down to the pillow. “Now go to sleep, otherwise you’re gonna be grumpy as fuck in the morning.”

The ‘I love you’ remained unspoken, but they didn’t need to say it anyway. Otabek never doubted Yuri’s feelings for him, however they knew that sometimes love wasn’t the answer, that there were times when loving someone just wasn’t enough to stay. 

Yuri was okay with that for now. He was willing to spend the rest of his life convincing Beka that he’s not going anywhere.

The next morning, Otabek was grumpy as fuck. He wasn’t the loud grumpy type like Yuri, who kicked things and grumbled quietly, cursing at everything, but he was also impossible to talk to, forgot to give him his usual good morning kiss on his shoulder and there was no chance to get a little morning cuddling out of him so Yuri simply pretended to be asleep when his alarm woke them both. 

He only had to join him at the rink later in the afternoon, when Ilia was scheduled to have training on his own, so he pulled the blanket up to his neck and tried to fall asleep again to the sound of Beka moving quietly around the room, getting ready. He heard footsteps leading outside to the kitchen, the distant buzzing of the coffeemaker and he turned around, blindly tapping his palm around for his phone. He squinted at the screen when he found it, reading _6:57 am_. At least Beka wasn’t late. 

He was half asleep by the time Otabek was about to leave, and he woke up again to the sound of his door opening, floorboards creaking a little before the bed dipped behind him. He felt a hand pulling back the covers, then a light kiss being planted on his shoulder. Yuri smiled with his eyes closed and fell back to sleep when the weight from the bed vanished again and he heard the soft click of the door closing.

 

 

“Take a picture of me.”

“What?”

Ilia came to a stop next to him, panting as he reached for his water bottle on the board. He was out of breath, the rink’s cold air leaving red spots on the tips of his ears and nose and he muttered a curse quietly as he leaned down to retie his skates.

“A picture. Of me. I’m sure you’ve heard of the concept,” Yuri shoved his phone into his hands, and turned sideways, crossing his feet and cutting the toepick on his right foot into the ice. Ilia raised the phone with a begrudging sigh, not even trying to object. “Not my face, kid, just the legs. They don’t deserve to see this face.”

“Lucky them,” Ilia rolled his eyes but actually did what Yuri told him, supporting his weight on one knee as he took a picture. He handed the phone back and Yuri immediately uploaded the photo with a black and white filter without a single detail that could have given a clue as to what exactly it was about. 

Although his bitter feelings towards his fans had somewhat faded in the last few weeks, he still hadn’t given up on messing with them. He figured it was a small price his fandom had to pay for leaking pictures of him and Otabek in that park, even if they weren’t responsible for the fight that followed. He found it strangely amusing, actively posting pictures while giving them absolutely nothing to work with, nothing to figure out what he did, where he lived or who he was and wasn’t friends with. 

He would have gladly kept this up forever, but pretty soon people were going to find out that he choreographed a program for Ilia anyway, and he didn’t want this to blow up in the kid’s face when Yuri suddenly appeared at a competition in person. So he tagged Ilia in the post, waiting for him to pick up his phone from the board to check the notification.

The kid looked at him with the most bored expression he could possibly muster. 

“ _The Force Awakens_? Really?”

“Shut up,” Yuri told him, “It’s a great title. I could have gone with The Return of the Jedi, you know.”

Ilia seemed to think for a second, narrowing his eyes before his face lit up and Yuri could practically see the lightbulb above his head.

“Winter is coming,” he said and Yuri snorted. 

“Fantastic spins and where to find them?”

“That’s lame,” Ilia stated. “Lord of the rinks.”

“Shit,” Yuri swore when he opened his mouth only to find that he couldn’t think of anything. “I can’t believe you outnerded me.” 

Someone came to a halt next to them with an abrupt hockey stop, deliberately turning the blades towards Yuri and spraying snow all over his clothes. Beka didn’t say anything, just gave a pointed look to both of them, a disapproving frown crinkling across his forehead.

“Oops,” Ilia said, “the Eye of Sauron is on you.” He sprinted away and Yuri turned to Beka, holding up his phone so he could take a look at the picture.

“Still grumpy?” he asked, pushing the phone in his face. “Give me a better title, if you can.”

“ _The Walking Dead_ if you keep distracting my top skater,” he said without missing a beat, but his mouth twitched, the hint of a smile playing in the corner of his lips. With one swift turn of his blades Yuri stopped right in front of him and cocked his head to the side, making a show of looking him up and down.

“You’re gonna punish me for it?” 

Beka arched an eyebrow, like even reacting to a question like that was beneath him but Yuri saw the way his eyes darkened and considered it a victory anyway. 

“And now you’re distracting the coach,” he said in a low voice, lips pulling into a half smirk, and Yuri realized that his attempt had backfired because boy, was he distracted by the way Beka was looking at him. He skated a little bit closer, hooking a finger in the pocket of Beka’s hoodie but before he could do anything, he felt fingers digging into his side, pinching him. Hard. He yelped and jumped back, rubbing the spot between his ribs, his eyes narrowed at Beka. The man let out a laugh then turned away, following Ilia’s movements, his expression shifting back into professional. “Left hand!” he called out to him.

Yuri returned to his earlier place by his side and Beka glanced over, nudging him with his hips.

“Not in front of the kids,” he said with a fond smile, before he returned his attention to Ilia.

“It’s just one kid, and I bet you he’s seen people kiss each other before.” Yuri argued half-heartedly, letting the subject drop after that. Beka reached out to rub the spot where he pinched him and Yuri caught his hand, putting it in his pocket with his own. 

Ilia straightened his arm, muttering a curse under his breath when he realized that he made a mistake in the choreography again and Yuri watched with Beka as he circled back to repeat the last few steps. 

“How long are you going to keep tormenting your fans like that?” he heard him ask quietly, eyes glinting with amusement even though he kept them on Ilia. 

“It’s fun,” Yuri shrugged and he remembered the last picture he posted, a photo of the view from Beka’s bedroom window. Just like the first time, it didn’t mean anything to anyone except the two of them and when he captioned the post with _’would love to wake up here everyday’_ , it sent the fans into a frenzy, trying to figure out where he was. He laughed at comments like ‘he’s probably on vacation’ and ‘well yeah this is obviously not in St. Petersburg you dumb fuck’ but there were a few who guessed right, writing ‘ _maybe he’s with someone you guuuys’_ and _’i bet it’s altin lol’_. These people were mostly shut down by others for being rude and making Yuri and Otabek uncomfortable which entertained Yuri to no end. “I don’t hate them if that’s what you’re worried about. But if they keep guessing and asking questions I might as well have some fun while they’re at it.”

“Still the left hand!” Beka called out again, squeezing his hand in Yuri’s pocket. Ilia cursed loudly, throwing his arms up.

“It’s a stupid move! Can I start with my right arm?”

Yuri rolled his eyes, fishing his hand out and letting go of Otabek. 

“Ugh, fine, let’s see what we can do about it.”

 

In February, Yuri accompanied Team Russia to the Winter Olympics. 

He was officially there as Ilia’s choreographer, even though he had skipped the earlier competitions of the season. The kid had done well in his senior debut, getting the silver medal at both the grand prix final and the russian nationals, then winning gold at europeans. Yuri watched him skate his way into the olympic team via shitty livestreams and for a while he settled for good luck messages and private congratulations instead of offering his support personally. 

By that time, news of him working as a choreographer had spread like wildfire, from the moment they officially announced Ilia’s programs for the season. He was aware that his fans were waiting eagerly for him to show up at some point, but he wasn’t exactly looking forward to being in the spotlight again. However, with the Olympics fast approaching, he realized that he _wanted_ to be there. 

Not just for Ilia but for Otabek too, because this was just as important to him as it was to the skaters themselves. This was his first season as a coach and his future career quite heavily depended on the first impression he made internationally, which meant that if Ilia succeeded, Beka would probably have a few new skaters lining up and he could finally stop worrying about his coaching career. He liked to act like he didn’t even care about it but Yuri could see how nervous he actually was from the hard set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders, and so he was determined to support him however he could, in every way Beka needed him to.

Of course if Yuri wanted to be completely honest with himself, there was a tiny part of him that simply just missed it all. He was curious to see how other skaters were going to perform and he wanted to meet Yuuri and Viktor again. He wanted to stand by Otabek’s side at the entrance of the rink, watching Ilia from there and then sit with them at the kiss&cry, waiting for his scores to be announced. He wanted it more than he wanted to avoid the media, and so he decided that Yuri Plisetsky would return to the skating world at the Olympics. 

He ended up watching the men’s short program from the back, following the events on one of the monitors there. Beka was outside with Ilia, and Yuri chickened out last minute, the thousands of people in the audience, the cameras and phones flashing suddenly overwhelming him before he even stepped out from the backstage area. 

He couldn’t decide what made him more angry at himself, the fact that nothing had even happened to upset him that much or that on top of everything else, he made Beka worry about him too. Yuri did his best to not make a big deal out of it, quietly slipping away and telling him that he’d decided to stay behind, but he saw the distracted glances and the hesitation when Otabek left him there to join Ilia before the warm-up. 

Truth was, nothing had upset him. He was just afraid that it would happen right outside, in front of all the cameras and the other skaters. This was supposed to be the kid’s day, his big moment and he wasn’t going to ruin it with an accidental meltdown. 

So he watched alone in the back as Ilia took his place on the ice, taking a deep breath before he raised his head and turned around, facing away from the judges in his starting position. Yuri’s eyes flickered down to his own name listed as the choreographer and he couldn’t stop the small, smug smile that fought to appear in the corner of his mouth. 

They did a good job, he thought as he watched Ilia starting to move on the ice, drawing circles with his blades and turning to the rhythm of the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Z9Ptj6dhJo). The kid was clearly nervous, his edges could have been better and his posture wasn’t exactly perfect but the jumps were clean and rock solid, and his musicality was undeniable. Yuri examined the whole program with a lump in his throat, trying to focus on the elements like a professional to draw his attention away from his own nerves. 

Ilia landed all three of his jumps and Yuri saw a tiny, barely even there but definitely visible fistbump when he did. He would have to talk to him about that. 

He ended the program with an ear-to-ear grin on his face, claiming the 4th place after the event and Yuri decided that the next day, he wouldn’t stay away. 

Ilia was even more nervous than before, although he tried to pretend he wasn’t. Yuri watched him tapping his fingers on the skate guards at the end of the warm-up, then disappearing in the back while the first skater, one of Yuuri’s, took the ice. He glanced at Otabek next to him who stepped away from the gate to go after him but stopped when Yuri made no move to follow.

“Go,” Yuri said, pushing him a bit, “he needs you.”

Beka looked around, taking in the sight of all the cameras and reporters around them, the other skaters, coaches and the people in audience sitting close by.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asked, and Yuri scoffed, smiling.

“ _Yes._ Now leave.”

He turned back towards the rink to show that he considered the matter closed and spotted Yuuri a few metres away, watching his pupil as he started skating to an overused piece by Chopin. Viktor was standing next to him and waved when he saw Yuri, but didn’t leave his husband’s side. Yuri remembered that he wanted to talk to him later, ask him about the Katsuki-Nikiforov children situation and made a mental note to take the time and buy Viktor a coffee the next day.

He looked around again when the program started but no one seemed to pay any attention to him, their eyes glued to the skater on the ice who just landed a quad flip at the beginning of his program. He felt himself relax a bit, seeing that no one was whispering behind his back or pointing fingers at him. Sure, the internet had blown up over the pictures Yuri appeared in during practice sessions but no one had stepped over the line in the arena when they met him personally so it seemed he had no reason to worry.

The japanese skater dropped to his knees in the middle of the ice and threw his hands up in a rather dramatic way, just when the song ended. Beka and Ilia appeared at his side right at that second, and Yuri examined the kid’s face closely, trying to see if he was okay. He looked a little pale but otherwise he was in a much better shape than before, and he stepped on the ice with confidence, handing Yuri his skate guards. 

“Any advice?” Ilia poked his arm from the other side of the board, looking up at him. He was trying really hard not to appear nervous but his eyes were bright and hopeful, lacking the sharp coldness Yuri was used to. 

“Don’t break your hip,” he replied. Ilia rolled his eyes and Beka snorted next to him, then tried to cover it up with a cough. Yuri just gave a helpless shrug because honestly, he was never really good at giving pep talks anyway, what did they expect him to say? “Okay, look. Just… don’t give a crap about the audience, okay? This is for your sister, for Anna alone. Skate like she’s the only one watching.”

Ilia arched an eyebrow, looking back at Otabek for a moment and shook his head in disbelief.

“Oh my god, you guys are so married.” Yuri heard Beka chuckle next to him. “He told me the exact same thing.”

Beka stepped forward and put his hand on Ilia’s shoulder just as they announced him as the next skater.

“You’ve trained hard,” he said, “and it’s about to pay off. You can do this.”

Ilia nodded at both of them and Yuri watched him turn around, greeting the audience with his arms raised as he went to take his place in front of the judges. His smile vanished, replaced by a stern expression on his face and Yuri thought he looked like a man on a mission.

“You know what?” he started quietly, drawing Beka’s attention away from the kid for a second, “I think he’s also a soldier.”

Beka took his hand and gripped his fingers tight, nails digging into Yuri’s skin.

“Yeah. He is.”

Silence fell on the arena as Ilia cradled his arms close to his chest and looked down at his feet, closing his eyes. Yuri held onto Beka’s hand, brushing his finger over his knuckles in what he hoped was a reassuring way, trying to calm his racing pulse. The piano started playing softly and Ilia slowly lowered his arms, gliding across the ice in a circle.

He seemed to take their advice and shut the world out, lost in his own thoughts as he prepared for the quad loop they had planned first. When he landed it, Yuri felt Beka’s fingers squeeze his and after that, he loosened his grip around his hand but didn’t let go. 

Yuri tugged on the leopard print scarf around his neck. He decided to wear it more as a good luck charm than to keep him warm, and so far, it hadn’t failed him. Ilia skated with ease, all the tension dropped from his posture and Yuri felt comfortable enough to watch the competition from the sidelines. 

His stomach was in a tight knot but he welcomed the familiar feeling like an old friend as he followed the kid with his eyes. A quad sal-double toe, better than Yuri had expected it to be, a quad sal that seemed effortless and earned loud cheering from the audience, then Ilia launched himself into a flying camel spin. His upper body turned towards the sky, palms up and fingers spread apart and Yuri’s breath hitched in his throat. 

Of course he’d seen the choreography countless times before but today there was something different about Ilia, like he had only just now connected to the song and realized what it truly meant to him. Yuri could almost, almost see his sister with him on the ice as he straightened up and started his step sequence. During his rocker turn he brought his arms down then lifted them up again, ending the move with his leg raised in an arabesque before the twizzles - a move suggested by Yuri who planned to include it in the choreography for his grandfather. 

He never got to perform that program and maybe he never would but parts of it were now ingrained in Ilia’s free skate for Anna, and Yuri thought it might be enough. The kid had done it justice after all. 

Beka tightened his hold on his hand when Ilia landed the triple axel-triple toe in the second half of the program. Yuri glanced at him from the corner of his eye and examined his expression, his lips pressed into a thin line and the tight set of his jaw, the way he didn’t seem to be breathing. He nudged him with his shoulder to get him to snap out of it, pulling him closer.

“He’s doing great,” he said, turning his attention back to the ice where Ilia had just landed his quad toe and moved on to set up for the next combination. _3A+1Lo+3F_ , Yuri listed in his head as he watched him, and Ilia went through it like it was nothing. He also seemed to completely ignore the people around him and the deafening applause and ovation he received after the jump. For him, the arena was empty except for only one person.

“Yeah, he is,” Beka replied after a moment of silence while he probably tried to process Yuri’s words and form a coherent answer. His eyes were glued to Ilia’s figure on the ice, his expression betrayed nothing but complete focus on the performance and aside from Yuri there was probably no one else in the entire arena who knew just how anxious he really was.

Yuri looked up at the audience after the last jump, the triple lutz when Ilia started his choreographic sequence. He ran his eyes across the first few rows behind the judges and spotted Ilia’s parents. 

They were both crying. 

Yuri held Otabek’s hand, because he wasn’t sure what else to do. He figured he wouldn’t be able to do much more anyway, so he squeezed his fingers a little to remind him that he was there. Ilia did the fan spiral on the ice with his arms extended over his head and his posture was now perfect, just like Yuri had shown him months ago when they first met. He finished the program with his hands stretched out towards the sky, looking up and Yuri heard Otabek suck in a breath like he had just now become able to breathe again.

The arena exploded around them, a standing ovation celebrating Ilia while he was showered with small gifts and flowers being thrown onto the ice. He waved around with a small smile, bowing politely and that was the last thing Yuri had seen before he was drawn into an embrace, one arm circling his neck, the other holding him around his waist, clinging to him.

“He did it,” Beka whispered with a short laugh, burying his fingers in Yuri’s hair and Yuri held him as tightly as he could, his palms drawing soothing circles on his back. 

“He really did,” he murmured into Beka’s neck and closed his eyes, hoping, just hoping that he could make Otabek feel just as safe and warm as he felt in his arms.

He sat in the kiss&cry on Ilia’s right side, and found that he was almost more excited to hear his scores than he used to be to hear his own. There was something different about sitting there like this, when he wasn’t exhausted and barely able to understand the numbers on the screen, without the rush of adrenaline slowly vanishing and leaving his body heavy and limp like a ragdoll. It reminded him of his first season in the senior division when he was forced to relearn everything about himself and his skating and this, this felt a lot like that because it was a whole new experience and he had something to learn again. It was a strange feeling, coming face to face with something new in figure skating after giving up on it for years. 

Maybe this is why, when later that evening Ilia asked him a question he knew immediately and without hesitation what his answer was.

“So,” the kid turned to him, fingers tapping on the fancy glass in his hands before taking a sip of his non-alcoholic champagne. Yuri raised an eyebrow and finished his own glass, the alcohol in his drink burning his empty stomach. 

“So?”

They were back at their shared hotel room with Otabek, standing around the table in the corner and he picked up the bottle for a refill. Ilia glared at him and Yuri got the feeling he was somehow supposed to know what he wanted without actually asking. 

“Will you choreograph my programs for the next season?”

The answer was on the tip of his tongue without really thinking about it, but he swallowed it back, because it wouldn’t be them if Yuri just gave him a straight ‘ _yes_ ’. Instead, he made a face and tilted his head, pretending to be hesitating.

“Eh, I don’t know. You’re like, the worst student I’ve ever had.”

Ilia rolled his eyes and Yuri glanced at Beka who was trying, and failing, to hide his smile behind his own champagne glass.

“I’m the only student you’ve ever had, asshat.”

“Still,” Yuri said, and his hand shot out to flick the medal hanging from Ilia’s neck, “you only got bronze.”

He laughed when he saw the kid’s angry scowling and pushed his hand in his hair to mess it up as much as possible. He wanted to make sure that Ilia knew he was just joking because his accomplishment was actually nothing short of amazing, placing third at the Olympics in his first senior year at the age of fifteen. Maybe he would, one day, surpass Yuri’s greatness and Yuri wanted to stay and help him do just that. 

“Fine,” he shrugged and smiling at Otabek on the other side of the table, “if your coach is okay with it.”

Beka was about to answer when he stilled, hands flying out to curl around Ilia’s arm reaching for the bottle.

“That’s the alcoholic one,” he said, his voice serious but his expression amused and fond, “yours is over there.”

“Oh come on, I’m fifteen, not a child!” Ilia was scowling and Yuri bit back his laughter because god, that sounded like a ridiculous argument. Fifteen was, indeed, a child, and he decided not to dwell on the fact that he had already had his first experience with alcohol by the time he hit the age of fifteen. “Just a little, I deserve it. I just got bronze at the Olympics.”

“No,” Yuri said simply, not offering any other explanation. Ilia pulled his hand back, rolling his eyes again. 

“You guys are boring.”

Otabek frowned like the mere thought of being considered boring offended him and Yuri couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped his lips.

“This is your fault,” he told him, “you’re a terrible influence on him.”

“Oh yes,” Beka replied in a flat voice, mocking him, “clearly it’s me.”

“Fine, but it’s not the same like this,” Ilia said stubbornly, holding up his glass, “let’s drink to the free skate of my life!”

“The short program was awesome too,” Yuri added after he lowered his hand, putting the champagne down, “you’re the next big thing, brat.”

“It was a great choreography,” Otabek complimented him, his eyes bright and warm, never leaving him and Yuri thought he could do anything as long as Beka looked at him like that. There was a tightness in his stomach under the weight of his gaze, but it was nothing like he used to feel, nothing like the painful knot that hadn’t let him breathe and crushed him down. 

“Great music choice,” he said in return, a half smile playing on his lips and Beka took his hand to tug him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“Uh, hello? Great skater, anyone?” Ilia waved lazily, too tired to do anything more than that.

“Yes, that too,” Beka agreed. He rested his palm on the small of Yuri’s back, just keeping it there as he talked, the casual touch warm and steady like everything else between them.

“Thank you,” Ilia gave a pointed look to Yuri before he put his glass down, a muffled yawn hidden behind his arm. 

“Go to sleep, kid,” Yuri said, “you still have the exhibition tomorrow. Practice starts at 10.”

“Yeah I know,” the kid replied, and his hands fiddled with the bronze medal in his neck, glancing down at it with a smile. He looked up, gathering his things and he turned back from the door one more time before he left. “Don’t be late.”

“Hey,” Yuri frowned, “I should be the one telling you that.”

“Yeah, right,” Ilia said in a flat voice, “‘night, guys.”

The moment they were left alone, Beka’s hand was gone from his back and reached for the glasses and the bottle of champagne, cleaning up their mess. Yuri pushed himself up and flopped down at the now empty table, watching as Beka disappeared behind the bathroom door, leaving it open.

“He’s so annoying,” he said fondly, glancing back to where Ilia was standing a minute ago.

He heard the water running and he sent an unimpressed look towards the sound because Otabek seriously, honest to god started doing the fucking dishes. Okay, maybe it was just three glasses but still, wasn’t this what the hotel staff was paid for?

Yuri called out again, waiting for any sound in return to indicate that Beka was listening to him. He gripped the edge of the table and forced his voice to work properly, to sound nonchalant as he went on.

“If our kids end up like him, I’m putting them up for adoption.”

The sound of the water running in the bathroom stopped abruptly, and Yuri felt his heart squeeze around itself, his stomach dropping when there was a short silence following his words. He braced himself against whatever Otabek was going to say, despite knowing that it wouldn’t change anything. Whether or not he wanted kids didn’t change the fact that Yuri was going to be with him for the rest of his life - or as long as Beka wanted him.

He willed himself to take a deep breath and calm down. It was more of a half-hearted comment at the expense of Ilia than a serious proposal for their future together but he still couldn’t stop his blood from racing through his veins like it was running away from the answer.

Footsteps broke the silence and then Otabek emerged from the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, a smile playing on his lips as he ran his eyes up and down Yuri.

“Our kids.” 

It wasn’t a question. Yuri waited until Beka repeated it one more time, like he was testing how it felt to say it, how the words sounded on his lips. There was a strange light in his eyes and Yuri swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the edge of the table.

“You want kids?” Beka asked, walking over to stand in front of him, his hands coming up to rest on Yuri’s thighs. Yuri glanced down, avoiding the intensity of Beka’s gaze on him and shrugged.

“I mean, I guess? In the very, _very_ far future, maybe?” He kept staring at Beka’s hands until one of them cupped his chin and lifted his head, thumb brushing his lower lip for a fleeting moment. He looked into Otabek’s eyes, warm, patient and smiling, not at all dark as usual, but almost golden and god, Yuri loved him so much he sometimes wasn’t sure he could bear it. He exhaled slowly and straightened his back, dropping his shoulders. “Yes. Yeah, I do. With you.”

Otabek pressed his lips against his forehead, long black lashes tickling Yuri’s skin as his eyes fluttered closed. He pulled back a moment later to look at him again and out of all the emotions Yuri thought he was going to see, amusement was not the one he had expected.

“I’m glad we established that it would be with me.” He was teasing him, and Yuri narrowed his eyes at the tone of his voice, fighting a smile. “I was getting worried for a second.”

He leaned back in and dragged his lips down to kiss his temple, his cheekbone, the curve of his jaw. It successfully distracted Yuri and he was ready to the drop the whole subject because Beka didn’t freak out or looked at him like he was crazy and he considered that a win already. He was prepared to put this conversation on hold for the next two years until he heard a question murmured into his neck quietly, a warm breath dancing across his skin just below his ear.

“How many?” Yuri hummed in response, his eyes closed, momentarily forgetting to reply when Otabek’s lips started making their way to his shoulder, occasionally stopping to taste the soft skin under them.

“Just one,” he decided when he was able to put a coherent thought together, “a girl. And a cat, we’re getting a cat.”

Otabek raised his head and Yuri felt his smile against his cheekbone before he moved to plant a kiss on his lips. 

“A little girl, hm?” Hands trailed down at his side to hold him at his hips as Beka pulled away to look at him, and Yuri grabbed the collar of his army green shirt to yank him back to the table. He put his hands on the nape of Beka’s neck, wrapped his legs around his waist and kept on talking.

“We’ll teach her how to skate,” he said, stretching his arms behind Otabek’s head before bending them again to ruffle his hair. “We’ll take her to the rink all the time with us. But it’s okay if she doesn’t like it, she can try something else then.”

“She’ll like it.” The answer made Yuri’s heart swell in his chest in the best way possible and he brought his hands down to cup Beka’s cheeks, pressing their foreheads together.

“Yeah, but you can’t put that pressure on her, though,” he said, “I want her to do whatever she wants.”

“You’re already spoiling her,” Beka laughed quietly and Yuri caught his lower lip between his own, drowning in his own feelings, melting against him. Beka’s hands were on his hips as he kissed back eagerly, and Yuri slid his own hands up, stroking the bristles of his undercut with his fingertips. 

Beka sighed into the kiss and leaned over the table, pulling Yuri closer to him. His fingers started wandering, tracing the curve of his spine, drawing the lines of his muscles under his skin until Yuri was practically shivering, tugging on Beka and pressing himself against his chest. 

“Tell me more,” Beka whispered the request in the crook of his neck, hands coming to rest around Yuri’s waist, keeping him close. He turned his head to nuzzle his nose against his neck, and when Yuri tilted his head down to see his expression, Beka’s eyes were closed. 

“Hm,” he raised his hand to brush the back of his fingers against Otabek’s cheekbone, thumb travelling up to follow the line of his eyebrow. “She’ll see the whole world with us. We’ll take her to competitions and everyone will get distracted during practice sessions because she’s so adorable. And when we’re both busy, Viktor will watch her. I know he won’t mind.”

Otabek’s arms tightened around him, squeezing him as he breathed in, hiding his face in Yuri’s neck. 

“I see you have it all figured out.”

“Beka,” Yuri replied, shrugging once, twice, three times to get him to lift his head from his shoulder and face him again. His voice was unwavering and he made sure that his gaze that met Beka’s was equally confident, firm and unshakeable. “I will never ever leave you unless you kick me out. Do you know that?”

Otabek’s lips were pressed together but his eyes were smiling, bright and loving and Yuri thought he wanted to exist in that moment forever. He felt a palm cradling his cheek and he leaned into the touch, tilting his head but never taking his eyes off Beka, watching as he thought about his answer for a few seconds.

“Yeah, I know.”

To Yuri, it sounded more beautiful than any song, more important than any ‘I love you’-s they had ever exchanged.

 

 

The last day of July found Yuri at his usual place, behind the counter at the bar. The shift had been slow so far, with most of the university students gone for the summer and he propped up his elbows lazily, resting his chin in his palm. There were only two smaller groups of friends sitting in the far end of the pub, and Yuri rolled his eyes at them when he made sure none of them could see it. Since he had to work that day, he just assumed that anyone who had time for a beer at 3 pm was probably loaded and hadn’t had to work a day in their lives.

It was probably far from the truth but it made him feel better because that was a valid reason to roll his eyes at them. He particularly hated that one loud, obnoxious blonde guy who sat across from him, gulping down drink after drink as he celebrated his graduation, and Yuri couldn’t _not_ notice the way he sometimes looked at him, like he had already decided that Yuri was going to be his celebratory one night stand.

He heard a chuckle from the occupied seat in front of him and he turned his head, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

Polina nodded towards the guy while pushing her empty glass back towards Yuri which was her polite way of asking for a refill.

“God, I hope he tries, I want to see you destroy him.”

“Are you crazy? I would never do that,” he replied, “at this point i can buy new skates from the tips he leaves.”

“Yuri!” Polina gaped at him, leaning forward to punch his arm. “Shame on you!”

“ _Quality_ skates, Lina,” he paused for dramatic effect, “with golden blades that have my initials engraved in them. I haven’t had those since I stopped competing.”

“It’s not funny,” she said but she laughed anyway. “You’re a horrible person. I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

Yuri handed her the glass back.

“For the 10% discount on the beer, I assume?” 

“Yeah, that must be it.” Polina drank and then nodded happily before she realized something. “Goddamnit, I should have celebrated my own graduation here, it would have been so much cheaper.”

“How was it, anyway?” 

Polina’s fingers were tapping on the glass and she shrugged, glancing down at Yuri’s hand.

“It wasn’t the same without you there.”

“Obviously,” Yuri grinned at her before he turned to the couple on his left, serving them quickly. There wasn’t many people to put on a show for, but he felt like it so he threw the glass in the air and caught it with his right hand before he poured their drinks. When he received a fair amount of tips he turned back, dropping down on his stool once again. “But it was better for me like this. I’ve been homeschooled since I was nine, Lina, I’m not cut out for university life.”

Yuri really didn’t understand how he hadn’t thought of this before. He never really went to school properly, always studying during the off season and the few longer breaks at the rink between trainings. Last year when he started working as a choreographer, he took the first semester off then switched to studying part-time and not only did his grades improved significantly, he also felt a lot better, doing something familiar again, something he knew he could work around. 

Polina fidgeted on her seat again, and Yuri could see she was trying to find the right words to say something. 

“Still, it’s gonna boring, doing my master’s without you.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes and dropped his hands from the counter.

“You got in.”

“I did.”

“What did Tatiana say?” he asked, thinking that it’s better to rip the bandaid off than politely tiptoeing around the subject. Polina applied to do her master’s degree in St. Petersburg, not Moscow where Tatiana lived and she used to say it’s just because she wants options. Yuri hadn’t really considered that she would choose to stay.

Polina pressed her lips together into a thin line, brushing her fingers through her long ponytail before she replied.

“Not much. I don’t think she really cares anymore. I don’t think either of us do.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuri offered and he wasn’t sure what else to say, so he settled for making Polina her favourite cocktail, sneaking in some extra alcohol and putting all the cheesy little fruit decorations on the glass with the horrible paper umbrella. “On the house.”

“Wow,” she said when she tried it, flashing a grateful smile, “I should break up more often.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Yuri arched an eyebrow before turning to another guest, a girl from the table in the back. She didn’t give him any tips and Yuri followed her with his eyes as she went back to the table and whispered something to the guy. 

“Oh my god,” Polina said, frowning, “he is going to make a move soon.”

“I can’t wait,” Yuri told her, “‘I’ve been waiting for a chance to use this line for fucking forever.”

“Aaaaand,” she waited, dragging out the word and sure enough the guy soon stood up, making his way to the counter. “Showtime.”

Yuri heard his phone buzz with a new message, but he ignored it for now and crossed his arms on the counter, letting his wrists hang lazily from the edge as he tilted his head to look at the blonde walking up to him. 

“What can I get you?” he asked but made no move to stand up. The guy smiled and bit his lower lip, leaning over the counter to be closer to Yuri.

“Actually, I was just wondering if you were free tonight.”

“What for?”

“For a private celebration.”

He didn’t even flinch, Yuri noted but stopped himself from raising an eyebrow. It was amazing, the amount of confidence some people had, really. And then there was Polina, with the elegance of a newborn baby deer when she tried to flirt, or Yuri who basically yelled at people and cursed until they fell in love with him.

“Dude, my dude,” he said, sitting up straight, “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you. I have this perfect answer and I was waiting for the opportunity to use it.” 

Well, that seemed to break the guy’s carefully built confidence a little, and he looked at him like he was crazy. Yuri didn’t let him say anything and he shot a look to Polina who’s shoulders were shaking with repressed laughter.

“Ready? Okay.” He cleared his throat and sighed.

“My heart says yes,” he said, making a show of putting his hand over his heart. He brought his other hand up and unclenched his fist to show the simple, silver ring around his finger, “but my fiancé says no.”

He burst out laughing at the same time Polina did.

 

***

 

“Hey, Grandpa. So it’s been six years. Crazy, huh? I still miss you everyday. I wish I could show you where I live now. It’s a bit further from the city centre so you would probably fucking hate it and complain about everything, the grumpy old man you are. Well, maybe you’ve seen it, I don’t know if you can even hear me or see me from up there. I hope you can, because I’m really fucking trying and I want you to know what’s going on with me. 

Oh, I brought a picture of my family. I’m gonna leave it here so you have a photo of your great-granddaughter. Maybe when she’s older I will bring her with me. I’ve already told her all about you, but of course she doesn’t understand yet. That’s okay, I’ll tell her again. I’ll make sure she knows her great-grandpa.

Hey, if you see Yakov up there… tell him that I think he would be proud of me. I know you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End, huh. This fic has basically take over my life in the past few months, and I'm sure I have a few friends who will be glad that it's over. Finally I'll be able to talk about something else lmao. 
> 
> As usual, there was no beta and my first language still isn't english so if you happen to come across any mistakes, please point them out to me so I can correct them.
> 
> Huge shoutout to all of you for sticking with me all this time, your comments never failed to encourage me and inspire me to go on! Thank you so much for all the support you guys gave me. 
> 
> If you have any questions, opinions, anything you want to share, leave a comment! If you prefer [tumblr](http://kiazareni.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/kiazareni), that's fine too.
> 
> Also, I got a lovely gift from eclair, you can check it on the link below!! Thank you <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Quote from Watch the Young Hearts Fade by Kiazareni](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11741790) by [thisiseclair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiseclair/pseuds/thisiseclair)




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